Agent Prentiss and the NCIS Agent
by FotoBridgeT2
Summary: The team is sent to Norfolk, where Emily is pleasantly surprised by a member of the NCIS team. But how does Hotchner react? Criminal Minds Xover with NCIS. Set in S3 CM S5 NCIS. Is a Casefic!
1. Chapter 1

**(Fanfiction is merely a way for me to 'play' with someone else's characters between my own written projects. Because I do use fanfiction as a 'warmup' for bigger projects, very seldom do I edit or rewrite, so unless it is a major flaw with the story or the character, please excuse any typos or errors. Enjoy!)**

**PS This is my first Criminal Minds or NCIS fic although I've seen A LOT of the episodes, but I tried to keep it in complete character for each show.**

**This is set sometime a few weeks after Criminal Minds "OPEN SEASON" and somewhere in Season Four for NCIS.**

**AGENT PRENTISS AND THE NCIS AGENT**

Emily muttered under her breath as she searched beneath the two desks Director Sheppard had relegated the BAU to, hoping she'd find her missing PDA. She'd searched the hotel room she was sharing with JJ and Garcia, but couldn't find it anywhere.

The last place—the only place—it could be was back at NCIS headquarters. The last place she wanted to be.

Team Gibbs hadn't exactly been welcoming. Nothing new there, locals usually didn't like the FBI stepping in. Especially when it was another agency. Morgan and Agent DiNozzo were especially at each other's throats and Emily, for one, was ready for this case to be finished so she could put it behind her.

The only one not having too hard of a time was Spencer. He'd found a fast friend in lab-tech Abby. They'd spent hours spewing off the wildest and most obscure facts about serial killers to one another. NCIS Agent McGee, however, didn't seem too impressed with the younger doctor.

To top it all off, the case was stalled. They'd found nothing more than what they'd been briefed on when they arrived. Sixteen navel officers—all female—had been found with their hands bound, heads covered, and arteries in their legs' slit clean through. It disturbed Emily on so many levels.

The strain was getting to everyone—even Hotch. But on top of everything else, she'd lost her PDA.

She'd moved the chair out of the way and had just reached behind the last desk when she heard precise footsteps behind her. She froze, recognizing the awkwardness of her position. As far as she'd known, only she and the security detail were still in the building. She sincerely doubted the guards had left their posts to come sneaking up behind her. She hoped it was playboy DiNozzo. He'd seemed like a nice enough guy and had taken it pretty well when she'd turned down his invitation to a movie.

"Something I can help you with, Special Agent…Prentiss? That is Prentiss under there isn't it?"

Emily mentally groaned, realizing it wasn't the easy-going agent who'd told her to call him Tony. It was the Gibbs himself.

She carefully extracted herself from under the old desk, feeling the heat of embarrassment painting her cheeks. "Agent Gibbs. I seem to be missing my PDA."

"And it couldn't wait until morning, I take it?" Gibbs brows rose as he gave her a quick once over. Her loose pink and green lounge pants and green t-shirt was a far cry from the button down suit she'd worn earlier. "It's nearly eleven."

"I need it for a report on my last case." Emily brushed the hair out of her face. It was curled, victim to a very bored Garcia, and it made her feel more vulnerable, more feminine. Not at all like the business-like professional agent she always wanted to convey. In fact, the only colleagues who'd ever seen her this way were JJ and Garcia. The vulnerability was made even worse because it was a man like Gibbs who stood before her—strong, precise, controlling, and alpha.

"I put it in the second drawer on the left. I found it by the coffee pot just after I got to the office."

Emily paused a moment, retracing her steps. She'd been the last of her team to leave—her and Garcia—and she'd been waiting for her colleague when she'd decided to pour herself another cup of the incredibly strong coffee that had been waiting across the room. She'd just finished rinsing out the mug when Garcia had come storming out of the elevator, talking excitedly about the new technique MIT graduate McGee had showed her. If she remembered correctly, Agent Gibbs had already been long gone. He must have come back after everyone had left.

She opened the drawer and retrieved the PDA. She slipped it into the pocket on her FBI windbreaker before turning back to the senior NCIS Agent. "Well, thank you, sir. I should probably get back to the hotel. Have an early day as you know."

"Yes, and Agent Prentiss, I really hate being called _sir, _ok?" He paused a moment, but didn't move to allow her to pass by.

"Agent Gibbs?" Emily's voice wavered as she moved to step around him.

"Would you like a cup of coffee. I know a place around the corner that serves the best in three states. And they're open 24 hours." Gibbs tone was assured, confident, and Emily couldn't tell if he'd issued the invitation out of professional courtesy or because he was interested in her.

"You're asking me for coffee, si—Agent Gibbs?" Emily was floored. She hadn't said any more than a polite hello to the team leader since meeting him—outside of a professional capacity—and he'd said barely little more to her.

"It happens I like coffee, Agent Prentiss. Can I call you Emily?"

"Me, too. I mean, of course I like coffee. And Emily is fine." Now she was even more confused at the strange an enigmatic man standing before her.

"So, shall we? I promise I'll walk you home before curfew." He stepped aside then, and turned as she walked ahead of him. He placed a polite hand on her back as they walked to the elevator. She liked the gesture; it spoke of an old-worldliness that was gentlemanly. Hotch, Rossi and Morgan made the same gesture sometimes and she liked then, too. She was just an old-fashioned kind of woman. Always had been.

"Coffee sounds great, as long as I am back in the hotel by midnight. Momma JJ might get a little worried if I'm out too late." Emily smiled to hide her nervousness. The man just plain made her nervous. She wasn't used to that. They walked down the street, side by side, as she asked herself _just what the hell did she think she was doing_?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

Chapter Two:

The next morning, Emily and JJ were the last to arrive, with the exception of Agent Gibbs. They were settling themselves around the desk they were both sharing when a steaming cup of non-NCIS coffee was placed suddenly under Emily's nose.

"I believe I owe you this?" Gibbs said, smiling down at her.

She smiled, wordlessly saying _thank you _as the members of the NCIS team looked at her speculatively. JJ snickered beside her and Emily kicked her quietly beneath the desk.

JJ straightened and tried to pin a sober look on her face. She must have succeeded because everyone looked away. Emily took a long sip of the coffee and tried to ignore the laughing eyes of the evil blonde elf sitting beside her. She knew she shouldn't have told JJ about having coffee with Gibbs. But the blonde had still been awake when she'd snuck into the hotel room at nearly one a.m. and had demanded answers.

The awkward moment passed after what felt like an eternity to Emily when Gibbs demanded a status report from his people.

"Abby's finished with the grand total of three samples we gave her, boss. Absolutely nothing useful. And that's it. Unless the feebies have something new to add?" DiNozzo looked at Morgan with a smug look on his handsome face. The two really grated against each other's nerves.

Gibbs reached over and thwacked the back of Tony's head. He ignored the startled looks of the BAU team and ordered, "You've got four hours, DiNozzo. I want something substantial, got it."

"Yes, boss," Tony said, rubbing the back of his head. "Can I have a _Special _Agent to go with me? Just so I don't get into too much trouble? You know I am not good under pressure." He eyed JJ and Emily hopefully before looking to the Special Agent in Charge.

"Special Agent Reid will accompany you, Agent DiNozzo." Hotchner told the younger man.

Everyone ignored McGee and Ziva's laughs at the almost crestfallen look on Tony's face. They knew him so well.

"Morgan, you and Rossi will head out to the base and ask around. Those women have to be connected somehow." Hotch said. "JJ, I need you to stay here and dig for anything you can find, help Garcia and Ms. Scuito. I need you to keep everyone in contact. Agent Gibbs? Emily and I will be visiting the last crime scene, if you and the rest of your team want to accompany us?"

"Sure thing. But we'll take my vehicle." Gibbs said, his tone ironic. He hadn't liked the SAC jumping and giving his people assignments.

"Not a problem, you're more familiar with the streets around here." Hotch said, as the members of his team looked at him suspiciously. He never spoke that rudely to local agents—unless they deserved it.

His team could sense that for some reason, animosity ran between the two men in a way it hadn't yesterday. Gibbs and Hotch hadn't exactly been friendly yesterday but they'd been courteous and professional. Today, they were downright hostile toward one another.

Everyone started off toward the NCIS garages, strangely silent, as they watched the interplay between the two team leaders.

Rossi—who probably knew Hotch better than anyone else on the team—was probably the only one with a clear idea of what was bothering the younger man.

He'd known how Hotchner felt about Emily for quite a while. If you looked closely enough when Hotch watched her, it was hard to miss. He'd never called him on it, of course, but he knew it was there. Sometimes, though, he wondered if Aaron knew how he felt.

Gibbs led Emily and SAC Hotchner to his van, before turning to one of his team-mates. "Ziva, you're driving. McGee, you're in the front. I don't want you puking on my seats again."

"But boss, I never, that was—" McGee began, not knowing what Gibbs was talking about. Why would the older man want to sit in the back with SAC Hotchner? It was no secret that Gibbs hated feebies.

Ziva elbowed him sharply. "Come on, McGee. Don't tell me you don't want to sit next to me? You will hurt my emotions."

"Feelings, Zi. It's _hurt my feelings._" McGee said with a resigned sigh. At least if he was in the back, he could close his eyes when her driving got too terrifying. In the front, he would be expected to keep his eyes open to navigate.

"Whatever. That is what I said, was it not?" Ziva asked, jerking the van out of the garage with a sharp left turn that had the occupants in the backseat shifting hard into one another.

Emily carefully extracted her arm from where it had landed in Gibbs' lap. She somehow wound up sitting directly between the two team leaders and she could feel the tension wafting off of both men. It was not going to be a pleasant ride, that was for sure. At least not for her.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: The Scene of the Crime

Chapter Three: The Scene of the Crime

Emily was about ready to drop to her knees in prayer the instant she stepped out of the van. Gibbs held out a hand as she climbed down, wordlessly steadying her. She said nothing, although she definitely appreciated his gesture. Ziva David was one of the most terrifying drivers she'd ever seen.

"Emily!" Hotch said, from the other side of the SUV, sharply drawing her attention away from the NCIS agent. "I need you over here."

"Hotch? What do you want me to do?" Hotch's attitude puzzled her, and the longer she was around him the more she got the feeling he was angry at her for some reason.

"Go around to all the neighbors; ask about friends, colleagues, anybody who might have seen the last victim with someone, even outside."

"Ziva, you go with her. You two might be a bit less intimidating. Less intimidating, Ziva, less." Gibbs said, giving the Mossad agent a telling look.

"Have it, boss." Ziva said, giving the FBI woman a look of assessment. They'd not spoken much since the FBI had arrived to jack the case, so Ziva was still taking the woman's measure. "We'll be back here as rapid as we can."

"Hotchner and I will check the woman's house again; see if there is something the locals missed before we got here. McGee, you'll question the neighbors on this side of the street. I trust you can handle yourself alone?"

"Sure thing, boss. I'll be back this way when I am done." McGee said, grateful to be able to escape the heavy tension between the two other men.

Emily walked beside the other woman in silence, unsure what to say to her. She knew the woman was Israeli, but how she'd ended up working for NCIS was a mystery.

"So, Gibbs brought you coffee. What reason?" Ziva suddenly demanded as they walked up the long winding driveway to the nearest neighbor's house. The neighborhood was semi-rural and the houses spaced far apart. "You know him?"

"Excuse me?" Emily was surprised at the question. What harm did a cup of coffee represent to these people?

"You and Gibbs."

"Oh, the _coffee._"

"Yes, the coffee. Gibbs never brings Feebies coffee. Gibbs hates Feebies." Ziva said matter-of-factly, never once considering that the question was really none of her business. "So why are you different?"

"I didn't realize I was. I ran into Agent Gibbs when I came back to get my PDA. I'd left it by the coffee pot, and then we went for coffee. He walked me home, after promising he'd bring me a decent cup this morning." Emily was irritated that she had to explain herself, but she'd learned early on that having an ally on the local enforcement made working the case so much simpler in the long run that she didn't want to alienate the other woman. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask, but I cannot guarantee an answer." Ziva answered, as frankly as she answers anything.

"What is the big deal about the coffee? That Gibbs would bring me a cup?"

"Gibbs never brings anyone but Abby anything. Anyone. Never. It, how do you say it? Surprised the shit out of everyone?"

"Oh, I see." Emily said as they knocked on the door. "No, actually I don't. I didn't realize coffee was that much of a big deal."

"With Gibbs, coffee is always a large deal." Ziva said, shrugging as she wondered just why the door wasn't opening even though they could hear footsteps inside. Her hand went to rest on her weapon, just in case. Emily's did the same.

"I think you mean _big _deal." Emily corrected softly, "Wait, did you hear that?"

"No." Ziva said. Both agents paused a moment, concentrating on the sights and sounds surrounding the small 1920s bungalow.

Emily realized what it was with only a split second to act. She shoved Agent David away from the door just as two loud shots rang out. The wood of the porch railing shattered, sending splinters into the side of Prentiss's neck as she lunged forward.

Ziva hit the wooden floor of the porch, striking her head on an old metal chair as she went down. It was enough to delay her reactions for only a second.

But a second was long enough for two more shots to shatter the class window right above her head. She rolled off the porch, grabbing the unresisting arm of the BAU agent beside her.

With as much strength as she could muster she pulled the other woman under the wooden porch, to provide as much coverage as possible.

It was then that she noticed the blood pouring from Agent Prentiss.

This was not good, not good, and Ziva knew it.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Guns N Roses

Chapter Four: Guns N Roses

Hotch was doing his best to ignore the NCIS Agent searching the second bedroom of Theadora Whitt's home. The NCIS agent seemed to feel the same way so the two men worked quietly for a few moments.

They'd just finished the hallway and its two bedrooms when the first of the rifle shots blasted.

The two men stopped what they were doing and their eyes met for the first time since Gibbs had placed the coffee in front of Emily. Both could easily see what the other was thinking.

Hotch pressed the call button on his radio, knowing that all the members of his team would be listening on the same frequency. "Prentiss, check in, please."

No answer. Hotchner bolted out the door, Agent Gibbs on his heels. They ran up the driveway to the neighbor's house. They paused only when the line of pine trees broke, taking cover beneath the thick bows and branches. They were maybe one hundred feet from the house's porch and could see no sign of agents David or Prentiss. Both men had there weapons out and ready to fire—as soon as they located their missing agents.

Right now they couldn't risk shooting either Emily or Ziva. They waited for several minutes for some sign of activity from the house. Finally, the door opened and a man in his mid-forties stepped out, placing a large hunting rifle against the side of the house. He paused a moment to inspect the damage to his porch before, grabbing a mop from the corner. He began mopping a section directly in front of the door, sliding the liquid over the edge, to the grass below.

It was then Hotch and Gibbs realized what they were seeing. The man was casually mopping blood off his porch.

Hotch motioned to Gibbs and on the silent count of three the two men yelled, "Federal Agents, Freeze!"

They rushed the porch, Gibbs covering Hotch's movements as the SSA moved in closer to secure the man.

The man kept screaming and singing in an horribly high-pitched voice, "Roses, and ashes, gone, gone, gone. Angels of death, harbingers of hell, done, done, done. Evil women, gone to hell, hell, hell."

Gibbs waited until the prisoner was secured and turned over to the waiting McGee—would come running at the sounds of gunshots, as well. He'd been but two minutes behind Gibbs and Hotchner.

Gibbs went to the door first, knowing the scene would have to be secured before they could search for Ziva and Emily. He was about to motion Hotchner in, when he heard a faint cry from beneath his feet.

He jumped the eighteen inch step, and fell to his knees beside the porch. There, huddled in the space between the house and the lawn was the two women.

"Gibbs. We must hurry. She is bleeding badly. I have stopped what I can, but I think he hit a vein." Ziva said, as the three men began jerking the old boards off the porch. Luckily, the wood had rotted so badly none of the nails could hold the softened material. Soon they had a section big enough to lift the bleeding Prentiss from the hole.

Had Ziva not acted as quickly as she had, pulling Prentiss under the porch with her, the man would have had a clear shot at Prentiss. That much was evident from the obvious marks where Emily had been dragged.

She was conscious, but she couldn't really focus on what was being said around her. She knew Hotch was with her, as was Gibbs. But she wasn't entirely clear on what had happened. All she knew was that her neck and arm hurt like hell, and she was covered in dirt and blood.

Hotch held her close, as Gibbs kept pressure on the hole in her arm. The man's second shot had caught her just below her shoulder as she'd moved to knock Ziva out of the way. Had she not moved—the bullet would have entered Ziva's chest.

It was close for both of them. Everyone realized it. McGee had called for backup the instant he'd heard shots and an ambulance and four local units came roaring up the drive. Hotch and Gibbs wasted no time loading the two women in the ambulance. The two men didn't take it too lightly when they were informed there wasn't room for the two of them.

They did just as McGee expected they would and ran back to the SUV—leaving McGee to deal with the entire mess with the madman, who was still singing his weird and macabre song.

Agents Morgan and Rossi were clear across town when they first heard Hotch's call for Prentiss to check in. They also didn't miss the way there had been no response.

Spencer hadn't missed it either, and he had loudly silenced the agent DiNozzo while waiting for some response.

Penelope and JJ also waited with anxious breaths, sitting in the middle of Abby's lab.

It was Abby, however, who placed the first call to McGee to find out why the Feebies were suddenly so tense. She'd been having a good time with Garcia and JJ when they'd both grabbed their earpieces and went strangely silent. It was Abby who rallied the troops to meet Hotch and Gibbs at the George Washington Memorial Hospital.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Aaron Hotchner, Next of Kin

Hotch could feel the blood pumping through his veins as Agent Gibbs tore the SUV through the streets toward the hospital.

Agent Prentiss, Emily, had been so still. She hadn't resisted when they'd pulled her from under the porch, but neither had she cooperated. In fact, she hadn't done much at all. She hadn't even spoken, just moaned in pain.

Hotch hated it when a member of his team was hurt, and now _his _Prentiss was shot and bleeding and he didn't know how bad. _Why hadn't he made sure she stayed with him? _Instead he'd sent her off with Agent David because he was angry at her. Angry at her because of the man beside him.

Who was he to care that another man found Emily attractive? She was a very beautiful woman, he'd always thought so. She'd even been an attractive girl at the age of nineteen when they'd first met. When he'd been security detail for her mother.

She'd been so still. She was always so calm, cool, and steady, but not like she was today.

They pulled into the hospital parking lot, and Gibbs jerked the car to a stop. Hotch was already halfway out of the vehicle.

In less than thirty seconds he was demanding to know where they had taken Prentiss. Gibbs was fast on his heels as he nearly ran to the emergency room. When they got there, the doctors refused to tell them anything—about Emily or Ziva.

"Not good enough!" Gibbs yelled at the charge nurse, demanding a status report on the agents. The charge nurse said she'd see what she could find out and hurried away from the two imposing and angry men.

Hotch and Gibbs were still waiting when the rest of the teams arrived. Garcia was clinging to JJ's hand and Morgan rested an around the computer tech's back. Abby clung to Ducky, fear for Ziva written all over her face. She let go of the ME and ran to Gibbs and through herself into his arms.

Gibbs did his best to comfort her.

"Hotch, man, what happened out there?" Morgan asked, after guiding JJ and Garcia over to a couple of chairs. "Did you catch the UNSUB?"

"We got the man who shot Prentiss, but we're still unsure if he's the UNSUB." Hotch said, bending forward to place his elbows on his knees. "Agent McGee was having him transferred to NCIS for questioning."

"And Emily? And Officer David?"

"Back in triage. Officer David has a possible concussion. Emily's been shot in the arm. Might have hit an artery, and she'd lost a lot of blood. We're waiting for more." Gibbs said, draining his third cup of coffee.

"Oh, no. My sweet girl." Garcia sobbed, resting her face against Morgan's chest. "My sweet girl."

"Most likely, my dear girl, they'll stitch her right up and give her a nice bag of plasma to replace the lost volume. Your friend will be good as new." Ducky said, going over to the blonde tech and patting her shoulder reassuringly. "This is a good hospital, my dear. Your friend is in good hands."

"Hotch? How was she?" Rossi asked, watching his friend's face closely for a reaction. "Was she awake?"

"Yes. She was hurting, but she was awake." Hotch answered.

"That's good, that she was awake." JJ said, hands twisting in her lap. She and Emily got along so much better than she and Elle ever had, and were close friends.

"JJ. I want you and Garcia to stay here, wait for news on Prentiss. Morgan, Reid, you, Rossi and I will go back to the scene. Find out for sure if this is our UNSUB. If not, I want to know why he'd shoot at two federal agents. Agent Gibbs?" Hotchner said, abruptly standing. He couldn't just sit there and do nothing. He wanted answers, and he wanted someone to pay for what had happened to his agent.

"Tony, you get McGee and join them. Abby—I'm going to need you back on the evidence. I'll wait here, for news and to take Ziva home."

"Is that necessary, Agent Gibbs? JJ and Garcia can take your agent home." Rossi asked, puzzled why the team leader would stay with one of his agents for so minor of an injury.

"An injured Ziva is not someone you want to let loose on unsuspecting agents." Ducky said. "She could inadvertently hurt someone."

Hotchner and his team were obviously puzzled by this. The woman certainly didn't look or act all that dangerous.

"What are you all getting at?" Morgan asked, looking at that DiNozzo guy. "What's her deal?"

"Ziva's our muscle. Trained assassin and all that. She could kill someone with just a paperclip." Tony said, ribbing the other agents only a little. "Gibbs has to keep a tight rein on her, ya know. We just keep waiting for her to sna—thanks, Boss. I'm gonna go get McGee now, boss."

"Now, DiNozzo." Gibbs ordered watching Tony rub his head. The younger agent obeyed, exiting the small room.

" About Ziva, Boss," Tony said from his position just outside the waiting room door. He could see down the hallway to the curtained sections where they had wheeled the two women. He could also hear what he vaguely recognized as Hebrew curses floating down the hall. "Sounds like Ziva is throwing a Ziva fit. You might wanna get down there before she kills someone."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Five: Aaron Hotchner, Next of Kin

Chapter Six: A New Friend

Emily came awake to the sound of angry muttering in what could only be Hebrew. For a moment she couldn't remember what had happened or why she'd be with some speaking a foreign language.

Then she remembered the porch and Agent David, and then Hotch holding her. Hotch and Gibbs.

She opened her eyes further and looked toward the other side of the room, realizing quickly that she was in the hospital ER. Several staff members in facemasks were hovering around her. Her arm was hurting badly, and she felt unbelievably light headed.

A mix of Hebrew spouted from the other bed in the exam room, and Emily turned her head abruptly. Agent David was in the middle of her own examination, and was fighting heatedly with the youngish, good-looking doctor leaning over her. He was eyeing her warily.

David was resisting his examination, muttering all the while about the unnecessary need to stay at the hospital for a little headache. The poor doctor obviously had no idea what the foreign words meant.

"He doesn't know what you are saying, Agent David." Emily told her in the same language. Languages were her specialty, and she'd been speaking the Hebrew words fluently since she was sixteen. "So threatening his virility is doing little good. What happened?"

"You speak my tongue?" Ziva asked, surprised enough to stop resisting the doctor's attentions. She only liked Dr. Mallard as physician, any one else made her nervous. "How odd."

"Why is that odd, I am a linguist." Emily said, focusing on the other agent instead of the pain in her arm.

"How many languages?" Ziva asked, looking crossly at the doctor when he shown a light in her eyes. She looked past him, watching as the other personnel hooked the agent up to another IV full of familiar red liquid. The woman's arm was freshly bandaged, so Ziva knew the wound was probably not that serious. Not as serious as it would have been had the FBI agent not knocked Ziva out of the way. Ziva thought on that for a moment. "Thank you. Agent Prentiss. For pushing me out of the way."

"Six. I speak six languages. And thank you, Agent David, for pulling me under the porch." Emily said. "Was it the guy?"

"I do not know. They will not tell me anything." Ziva glared at the physician once again. He was brandishing a big needle that he thought would go into Ziva's body. Ziva didn't think so. She told him so, in a mix of Hebrew and English that terrified the man even more. Her voice rose with each syllable, and he kept backing up. The other medical staff in the room froze, watching the tableau.

Emily watched in a sort of drugged curiosity. She didn't think David would do the things she threatened and it was slightly amusing to see how the man was afraid of the woman. He had a good one hundred pounds on the Israeli—who'd been injured at that. It was really funny, and Emily started to laugh. Pain medication always made her laugh—each and every time.

The curtain was jerked back thunderously and everyone except the doctor, Prentiss, and Ziva turned to see what who was joining this strange little act. Gibbs took one look around and understood the situation.

He knew Ziva hated doctors—except Ducky, of course—and that she hated needles even more. On top of that—she hated appearing weak, so she'd never admit her fears. So it was easier for her to terrorize the doctor instead of letting him meekly inject her with what were most likely antibiotics for the scratches marring her face.

"Excuse me, sir, but you cannot be in here right now." A nurse tried to say, but was hushed by the look in Gibbs' eyes. "Two minutes, no more."

"Officer David! What seems to be the problem?" He barked quietly, staring his agent down, while ignoring the giggles coming from the other bed. Giggles that made him want to smile. If Emily was awake enough to laugh she was most likely going to be ok.

"I want Dr. Ducky, Gibbs, he'll know I don't want needles." Ziva looked at Gibbs with an almost pleading look on her face.

"Dr. Ducky?" Emily said, laughing at the absurdity of a duck being a doctor.

"Dr. Can our medical examiner take over from here? He's her personal physician of record." Gibbs said, compassion in his eyes as he looked at both Ziva and the doctor. Poor man was really scared of Ziva—but then she often had that affect on people, so Gibbs was used to it. "And just what did you all do to Agent Prentiss?"

"Pain medication affects some people differently." The doctor explained as they all looked at the laughing woman. "She should get passed the buzz in about an hour and a half. As for Officer David, does your examiner have privileges here?"

"Yes."

"Then, by all means, he can have her." The doctor handed the syringe to one of the nurses and hurried out of the room, glad to be away from that woman.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Divergence

(After this point there will be two separate stories—one for each ending. In one story she gets with Gibbs, and that story is posted in the NCIS section. In another story, she gets with Hotch, which is posted in the CM section. The NCIS story is titled _Agent Gibbs and the BAU Agent. _Enjoy!)

CHAPTERSEVENCHAPTERSEVEN

Gibbs hurried back to the waiting room, seeing that no one had left in his absence. Apparently, they were all waiting for an update—he'd be glad to oblige, and then it was back to work.

"Boss?" Tony was the first to speak, bouncing on the balls of his feet impatiently. "Ziva?"

"Ducky, you're needed in the exam room. Ziva and needles, you know." Gibbs began, smiling at the doctor. At his expression, an audible sound of relief escaped most of the people in the room. "As for Agent Prentiss—you people know what pain medications do to your agent?"

"What?" Rossi asked, puzzled.

"Apparently she's got the giggles. I think she's going to be fine, but she's a little high right now. Come on, we have work to do! Let's move." Gibbs motioned to his team members and they jumped to their feet, followed shortly by Hotch's team.

After they left Gibbs settled into the hard plastic chair, waiting for Ducky to return with Ziva. The two women from the BAU chatted softly, laughing occasionally—though he could sense it was forced laughter. Another hour passed before he heard the two accents mingling. Ziva was complaining loudly about the needles, while Ducky commiserated softly.

Sometimes Ziva exhibited such a vulnerable state that he couldn't help but soften towards her. It reminded him of the night she'd killed her brother—just to protect him. He gave a rare prayer of thanks that he'd not had to kneel over her dead body the way he had Cait's.

Hers or Emily's. Emily reminded him so much of Cait, that he'd almost called her that on several occasions. He'd told her about Cait, over their first cup of coffee. Told her how she reminded him of her.

She'd understood. Pinpointing the guilt he'd never shake. She'd told him that, too.

"You are not responsible for her death, but you naturally feel, that as her superior and as her friend, that you should have—could have—done something differently. It's understandable, and you won't get over it. But you owe it to her to not let it control you." She'd sounded so earnest, so sincere, and the soft brown of her eyes had made it seem as if Cait herself was saying the words.

For the first time since Cait's death two years earlier, Gibbs actually felt the bands of guilt loosening around his heart.

He'd grasped her hand, then, and thanked her. She'd smiled, and he was once again reminded that she wasn't Cait, but an interesting and attractive woman in her own right.

So he'd asked her about herself, and she'd been reluctant to talk, at first.

By the time they'd made it back to the hotel room she'd been sharing with her colleagues it had been three in the morning. He'd laughed and promised her a cup of coffee to get her started the next morning.

So he'd brought her a cup, and then less than an hour later, watched her and Ziva walk up a long drive way. Then they'd heard the shots, and it was like Cait all over again. Two dark-eyed women, and shotgun shells. When they'd found the women under the porch, he didn't know who to grab first.

Supervisory Agent Hotchner had made the decision for him, grabbing Emily and holding her tightly. If he Gibbs had any doubts about the other man's feelings they'd been erased in those few tense moments while Emily's blood had been coating Hotchner's hands.

Gibbs' first responsibility was to his own agent, and he was only half a second behind the younger Hotchner. He'd pulled Ziva from the ground, eyes roving over her delicate features, cataloguing the wind shards imbedded in her arms and forehead. Minor wounds, but bloody. She'd wrapped her arms around his neck in what he knew she'd later view as a temporary moment of weakness.

She'd felt so warm against him as he'd carried her to the waiting ambulance. So warm and alive.

He'd loaded her into the waiting vehicle, strangely reluctant to loosen his hold. He cared for Ziva, equally as much as he had Cait, or Jenny. Seeing her vulnerable was always a blow to his system.

She looked even more vulnerable with the white bandage covering a portion of her forehead. That must have been where the biggest wood shard had embedded. Her hair was loose, blood, dirt, and splinters tangled within. Her eyes were large in her pale face, and she leaned heavily on the older man beside her. She looked nothing like the trained killer he knew her to be.


	8. Chapter 8

(ok…I found a slight mistake but am not going back to edit, as I do not edit my fanfics…I just don't have the time..what with being a freelance writer and all, who should actually be working on other stuff—and will as soon as the darn contracts arrive—but in the first chapter I say they were out to 1 am and in the last chapter 3 am…let's just compromise and say they were out much later than they were supposed to be…)

Prentiss and the NCIS Agent:

Emily lay in the hotel bed counting the water stains on the ceiling. That and the cobwebs clinging precariously to the stucco points. She'd been released from the hospital four hours earlier, and was now under the watchful care of the other wounded agent, Officer David.

David was not a patient baby-sitter, and Emily was not a cooperative patient. Finally, both women had had enough. Emily took a quick shower, holding her injured arm out of the water to prevent the plaster from getting wet. She dressed, with only a little help from the younger woman.

"So where should we go first?" Ziva asked, getting behind the wheel of her car. The doctors had ruled out any concussion, so other than the somewhat painful scratches and marks where the wood splinters had embedded in her skin she was all clear, even to drive.

It was because of Gibbs' overprotective attitude that she wasn't already at NCIS headquarters. Enough was enough.

"Coffee, chocolate, work." Emily said, zipping the black FBI windbreaker against the rainy day chill.

"Gibbs will not be happy with us when we get there." Ziva said. It wasn't a worry, just a statement.

"Neither will Hotch, but…" Emily said, grabbing the door handle as Ziva took the last turn to NCIS headquarters practically on two wheels. She was starting to feel a rising nausea that she hoped she'd be able to repress.

Officer David was literally hell-on-wheels, and the pain pills mixed with the motion of the vehicle were almost more than she can handle.

She'd never been so glad to see a parking lot in all of her life. She walked a little slower than she would have as she entered the building. Her arm hurt, she wouldn't deny it, but sitting in a hotel room with Ziva wouldn't do much for her peace of mind.

Emily was at her worst when she was inactive. She had a strange feeling Ziva was the same way. So regardless of whether Gibbs and Hotch were angry, she and Ziva would be doing all they can—if even only in the bullpen.

ZIVAEMILYGIBBSHOTCHZIVAEMILYGIBBSHOTCHZIVAEMILYGIBBSHOTCH

Hotch and Gibbs were working silently, reviewing the case files yet again, while Rossi, DiNozzo and the others canvassed the neighborhood surrounding the scene of Prentiss's shooting. Hotch didn't want to admit it, but he just didn't want to go back there. Not yet.

When the elevator dinged, announcing the arrival of Ziva and Emily, he didn't notice right away. But he could always smell her, could almost feel her presence like a tactile stroke against his skin.

He looked up sharply, eyes roaming over her slight form. She wasn't dress with as much precision as he was used to seeing her…the shirt she wore was obviously one she'd swiped from Morgan's room, hanging loose over the casted arm. Her hair was pulled back neatly, most likely the handiwork of Officer David, and her makeup was lighter than usual. She actually wore jeans, something he wasn't accustomed to seeing her wear while on the job. She looked young, vulnerable, and frail, and his heart stuttered.

"Prentiss, you shouldn't be here." He told her, inwardly wincing at the harshness of his tone. Sometimes, he had a hard time not appearing unfeeling—especially with her. He tried so hard to mask his inappropriate thoughts that he knew he sometimes overcompensated. He knew he'd done it again when she winced slightly and her delicate features tightened.

He stood, moving to take her uninjured arm. The feel of her warmth beneath his hand was reassuring, and he squeezed unconsciously, the gesture meant to comfort and yet still convey his unstated concern.

Hotch would be the first to admit that he was often unable to vocally express his feelings. It was easier to simply keep it in, rather than let the women in his life know of his vulnerabilities. That was one of the main reasons he and Hailey hadn't made it.

Emily smiled up at him, wordlessly conveying that she _knew _how he was feeling. She always knew, it was one of the things that inevitably drew him to her. He helped her to the nearest desk, and guided her down into the chair.

"Why aren't you resting?" He said, the words only loud enough for her to hear. He unconsciously leaned over her slightly, looking deeper into her eyes, trying to read her.

"Couldn't., stir crazy." Emily whispered back; his face was so close to hers he could feel the softest touch of her breath.

"But you shouldn't be here, you're not ready." Hotch said.

"It was boring in that room, Hotch. At least here I can be doing _something. _I won't overdo, I promise." She looked at him, imploringly. "Please."

"The first sign, and I mean it, Prentiss—you're back to the hotel. I'll drag you back there myself." He squeezed her shoulder slightly.

He always touched her, more than any other agent, but Emily doubted he was even aware of it.

As it was, she didn't have a clue what it meant. As a profiler that made her more than a little nervous.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: My Brown Eyed Girl…(s)

Gibbs watched the mini tableau between Emily and Hotchner with the smallest sense of regret and resignation. He'd admit he was attracted to Agent Prentiss—and knew she felt the same attraction—but whatever was happening between the two Feebs in front of him went much deeper than simple attraction.

He just wondered if they knew it themselves. Agent Hotchner's body was curved almost protectively around Emily's much smaller one, with her leaning into his warmth. For a moment, they had completely shut out the world of NCIS, including Gibbs and Ziva.

Gibbs turned toward his own wayward dark-eyed, dark-haired female agent. Ziva stood watching as the BAU agents murmured to one another, not missing the way the older man shivered slightly when Emily's shoulder touched his.

So that's why Gibbs did not like the agent Hotchner, Ziva thought, understanding the simplicity of male jealousy. Apparently Agent Emily had more than one team leader sniffing after her.

No wonder poor Tony hadn't made any headway.

Ziva was so into watching the BAU couple that she failed to notice Gibbs giving her an examination as thoroughly as Dr. Ducky had earlier. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her away from Emily and Hotchner, moving her to face him. His hands tightened on her shoulders, the grip strong and reassuring.

Gibbs was always the one person she'd always associate with strength and safety.

Funny, that. She'd never truly trusted a man the way she did the team leader. But that worked two ways; no man had ever read her as deeply as Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Sometimes she felt like nothing less than an open book for Gibbs, starting as far back as the night she'd killed her brother to prevent him from hurting Gibbs.

"Officer David, you were given explicit orders. Care to explain why you chose to ignore them?" He pulled her closer, growling the words very close to her ear. She resisted the urge to shiver. She'd learned long ago how to control her body's reaction to the slightest stimulation. But it was _so hard _when Gibbs was the one doing the stimulating!

She fought the inescapable urge to squirm in Gibbs grip, wanting to wiggle like a poor worm on a hook. "Sixteen dead women, Gibbs, and I was stuck in a hotel. Agent Emily and I were going stir-nuts."

"Crazy. I think you mean _stir crazy, _Zi." He said softly ,smiling softly.

"Whatever, that is what I said, no?" She momentarily dropped her head, the crown of her hair rubbing against his chin. "It is what you would do, right?"

He closed his eyes at the slightly fruity scent of her shampoo. "Dammit, Ziva, you were hurt! Can't you make anything easy?"

"I do not know, Gibbs. What exactly would be easy?" She took him literally, though her head stayed against his broad chest. He smelled like boat again, and she resisted drawing the scent in to surround her.

"Rhetorical question. The first hint that you're in pain or wearing down, I'll drag your ass home. Is that clear, David?"

"Glass, Gibbs."

Before Gibbs could reply his cell phone rang, he pulled back slightly, taking only one hand from Ziva's shoulders. He kept the other right where it was. Ziva tensed slightly, but didn't pull away. "What have you got for me, Abs?"

"_You and Hot Hotchner better get down here fast! This is worth a dozen Caf-Pows now!"_

ABBYABBYABBYABBYABBYABBYABBYABBYABBYABBY

The atmosphere in the elevator ride on the way down to Abby's lab was awkward, to say the least. Both Emily and Ziva were oddly aware of the two men beside them, while the men themselves were equally aware of their feminine counterparts.

It was the weirdest elevator ride of Emily's career. Hotch stood between her and Gibbs, completely blocking her from his view. She couldn't help but think that it was deliberate. Was it possible that _Aaron _had developed feelings for her.

She completely hoped not. She just couldn't handle that right now. Maybe once they got back to Quantico, she'd think about the possible repercussions.

She entered the forensic lab last, looking around at the people waiting. McGee, Garcia, and Abby were all gathered around a computer simulator. They turned toward the four entering agents and Abby squealed. She threw her arms around Ziva for a moment, squeezing the trained killer as hard as she could.

Ziva was ok with it—she'd expected it.

Abby then turned to her new source of hero-worship and threw her arms around Agent Prentiss. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Abby—let her breathe!" McGee said, long experienced with the ferocity of Abby-hugs.

"You're welcome." Emily said once she could breathe again. Her eyes examined all the faces around her, looking for some clue. "For what?"

"Oh! Yeah. Just watch! Gibbs, the guy who shot Agent Prentiss—my new hero, by the way—wasn't the guy who killed the sixteen navel officers and marines."

"He wasn't. How do you know?" Gibbs barked; Abby was used to his manner so she just ignored it.

Garcia's fingers flew over the keys of the simulator and three-dimensional figures appeared. They were positioned in exactly the same positions that Emily, Ziva, and the shooter had been. With another stroke of the keys, trajectory lines became visible.

"Two lines?" Gibbs asked, familiar with this technology.

"YES!" Abby shouted. "And this is why Emily is my new hero!"


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Abby's Hero…

"Here, Gibbs, and Hotchner, sir. You look like a _sir, _more than Gibbs." Abby said on a long breath.

"Abby focus." Gibbs ordered, staring at the three dimensional holograph on the table in front of them. Something about it was off, but the non technical Gibbs couldn't put his finger on it.

"Yes, yes. Focus. Need caffeine. Here's Ziva, and here's Agent Prentiss." She pointed to the computer simulations. "Our shooter was inside the house when he fired."

"Go on." Hotch urged, the smallest hint of impatience in his tone.

"Yes, sir. When Franks—the shooter—fired, Agent Prentiss, you pushed Ziva to the right. Ziva's original position was directly in front of Franks' door, right?"

"Yes, Abby. I do believe that is correct. I fell and hit my head on the chair to the right of the door."

"Ouch. I'm glad you've got a really hard head, Zi."

"Thank you, Abby, so am I." Ziva said, taking her words literally. "Go on, please."

"Yeah. The model. Here is where things get interesting. I mean, not that you getting shot was _interesting, _Agent Prentiss. But the way, anyway…" Abby rambled, and the BAU agents all struggled to follow her disjointed and convoluted method of conversation. "When Agent Prentiss pushed Ziva her arm moved into Franks' line of fire. He was only using a small caliber—which under the circumstances, was really, really lucky."

"Lucky?" Emily asked, incredulously. She looked at the plaster cast covering her arm from the shoulder down. Her humeral bone had been nicked, and fractured. She'd be in the cast for at least six weeks. It didn't feel quite that lucky.

"Yes, lucky. Because of this." Abby held up two evidence bags labeled in McGee's neat penmanship "Timmy found the round from Franks' rifle that hit you. It was embedded in a pine tree beside the driveway. It entered your arm here." She motioned to the large monitor at the front of the lab. A three-D approximation of a human arm was visible. She used a laser pointer to illustrate what she was explaining.

"Abby, why do I get the feeling that there is more?" Gibbs said, impatience ringing in his voice. Abby certainly liked to be center stage, but he could see that both Ziva and Emily were wearing out. Time to get the show on the road.

"Because you are magic, my silver-haired fox! _This _ bullet comes from another small caliber gun. Most likely a pistol. It's trajectory indicates it came from _behind _Ziva and Agent Prentiss!"

"Two shooters?" Ziva said, mind replaying the sequence of events leading to their injuries. She didn't remember two gun shots.

"Yep. And here's where it gets kind of awesome—not that it was _awesome _that you two were hurt. But look." Abby turned everyone's attention back to the model. "Here you are on the porch, here's where Franks fires and Ziva is pushed out of the way. But from the photos of Agent Prentiss's arm—you were shot twice!"

"Twice?" Emily parroted, "In the same spot?"

"Not exactly probable, Abs." Gibbs said, moving to rest one hand on Emily's uninjured shoulder. The poor woman was looking a little more than pale.

"But possible! From trajectory calculations our second bullet was aimed right at where Franks' chest would have been. When Ziva and Agent Prentiss stepped on the porch, our second shooter was most likely aiming right between them. Ziva must have shifted slightly, putting her in the paths of both bullets. Franks fired, Agent Prentiss pushed Ziva out of the way—if you hadn't, it would have been very _bad _for Ziva_, _that's why you're my new hero—and stepped into the path of both bullets. The second bullet was deflected—most likely the one that hit the bone, and embedded in the side of the house. If hadn't hit the bone it would have hit Franks mid chest."

"Did you get anything from the bullets?" Ziva asked, not entirely able to hide the nausea that had risen in her throat when she realized what _would _have happened if she'd not been pushed out of the way. Both bullets would have hit her mid chest, not Franks. She'd most likely be dead.

"That's the second piece of totally awesome news, I got a print from the jacket of the second bullet. I don't have an ID yet, but it does match one at Lolita Allgood's apartment! So Franks wasn't the killer!"

"So if he wasn't the guy why did he fire at two Federal agents?" Garcia asked, seeing the representation of what _could have _been making her nearly ill. She hated to think of her team in danger, while she sat behind a monitor—especially JJ or Emily, her two best friends in the whole world.

"Why don't we go ask him?" Gibbs said, anxious to tear into the guy. Nobody—nobody—threatened Gibbs' team, especially the female members.

"Shall we?" Hotch said, and for once the two men were in perfect, unspoken agreement.

"Ziva, you and Agent Prentiss take it easy for a little while." Gibbs ordered, "Don't overdo it. Will let you all know if we find out anything. Abby, get a hold of McGee, DiNozzo, Morgan and Reid. Tell them we have a 'second shooter on the grassy knoll.'"

It was a moment after all but Abby, Emily, Garcia, and Ziva filed out that Ziva turned toward the other women. "Grassy knoll?"

Emily explained.


	11. Chapter 11

(Ok, I found another error—in the last chapter Gibbs tells Abby to find McGee, but it should have been Rossi she was supposed to find.)

(Secondly, I have a major, major project for a client and won't be able to update all of my stories every day, but I will try—as best I can—to update at least one of my stories each day.)

(Thirdly, this is one of my favorite chapters so far—I think it gives insight into Hotchner that my other chapters just haven't. Please let me know if I've kept him—and Gibbs—in character..)

Enjoy…..

**Chapter Eleven: Men, Attraction, and Guilt**

Hotch watched Agent Gibbs out of his peripheral vision, wondering at his interrogation style—and his intentions toward Emily.

"Didn't mean to poach," Gibbs said, abruptly. He wasn't a profiler—didn't put much faith in it, no matter what he'd told Ducky. Still, he didn't have to be a profiler to know what Hotchner was thinking.

"Excuse me?"

"didn't mean to horn in on your girlfriend." Gibbs knew he was needling him, but was how Gibbs operated.

"Agent Prentiss is my colleague and my subordinate, _not _my girlfriend. We are here to a job and nothing more, understood?" Hotch's words were blunt, but Gibbs still heard the anger underlying his tone. "What makes you think differently?"

"The way you look at her as opposed to the way you look at any other beautiful woman." Gibbs said, slamming the elevator's stop button.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Hotch asked, voice rising slightly.

"Figured we got some things to work out before we interview Franks. Are you going in there as a Federal agent or as a pissed off lover?" Gibbs didn't sugar coat, and he made sure to look at the other man head on. He wanted to see every reaction on Hotchner's face.

"That is a completely necessary question, Agent Gibbs. Agent Prentiss and I have never had a personal relationship of that manner, so let's consider this discussion dropped."

"Maybe you haven't—yet—but you want to." Gibbs said, "Funny, you profilers can't see what's right in front of you."

"Maybe your just hallucinating." Hotch actually snarled the words, his handsome face twisting menacingly, as he slammed the elevator button to send the elevator back to service. "There is nothing sexual in the way I look at Prentiss."

"If you say so." Gibbs quipped.

EMILYEMILYEMILY

The stairs almost proved too much for Emily. They'd waited outside the elevator for several minutes but it showed no signs of movement. It was as if it had stopped between floors.

Ziva and Abby had shared a glance, before lab tech had said cryptically, "Gibbs must be discussing something with Sir Hot Hotchner."

"Excuse me? What did you call him?" Emily sputtered, not knowing whether to laugh or be appalled. _Hot Hotchner? _ Seriously?

"Well, he is! There is just something about a man that buttoned up, you know. Makes you want to grab him and rip the buttons away!"

Garcia sputtered and bent over, laughing hysterically. Emily just stood there, outside the elevator, looking at the two techs in complete bewilderment.

"Come on, Em, don't tell me you've not noticed! Hotch is a very good-looking kind of kind—if you like that type."

"What's not to like?" Ziva asked candidly. "He is intelligent, successful, good-looking."

"But _Hot Hotchner? _I can just see his face if someone where to call him that in his hearing. Can't you, Pen?" Emily was finally struck by the hilarity and she too laughed until tears flowed. "But why is the elevator not moving?"

"Oh, Gibbs calls it his office. He has private conversations in there—mostly ass-chomping and head slaps. You can't escape once you're in there, you know."

"Ass-kicking, Zi." Abby said, snickering. "Gibbs has pulled you in there enough for you to know that by now."

"Whatever, Abby. I guess we are taking the stairs." Ziva shrugged before turning toward the stairs. Abby and Garcia stayed behind, watching the two dark headed agents slowly climb the steps. The pain was beginning to show in Emily, and they hoped she'd be smart enough to take the necessary break before Gibbs or Hotchner caught on.

HOTCHOTCHOTCH

Aaron's blood boiled. How dare Agent Gibbs imply that there was something inappropriate between him and Emily?

If Gibbs had spent any time with the woman—and Aaron _knew _he _had—_he should have known Emily Prentiss wasn't like that. She was far too intelligent, too dedicated, and too professional to jeopardize her position in the BAU by engaging in an affair with a colleague—especially a supervisor. _And he would never expect her to make that kind of sacrifice, no matter how much he might have wanted her to._

At his last thought his mind went into an immediate panic. _No matter how much he wanted it? _Did he want it?

It wasn't something he'd ever allowed himself to think about. Yes, he'd long admitted that Emily was an attractive woman—just as he'd long thought the younger JJ was.

It was something he'd even taken advantage of during investigations. Attractive women tended to attract men; he'd effectively used them as bait during certain investigations. Just another weapon in his arsenal. Just as Reid's intellect or Morgan's charm. His team had strengths and weaknesses, and as leader it was his job to utilizes those strengths and prepare for those weaknesses.

Yet what of his own weakness—was _Emily _one of his weaknesses? Why hadn't he ever noticed before.

As he followed Gibbs down the hall to the NCIS interrogation room, he cataloged his feelings for Agent Prentiss.

One, he'd always found her mind to be fantastic. Two, she was clever and her droll sense of humor made it hard for him to always keep a straight face. Three, he had always infinitely trusted her as his backup. Four, when working an investigation he knew she almost always seemed to read his mind. And finally, when he was with Emily he always felt the most perfect sense of calm, as if the horrors that was their job were blunted, smoothed over—if only for a little while.

If he was brutally honest with himself, he'd admit that not even Hayley had ever managed to make him feel _exactly _like that.

The question was, what did it mean, and how did he feel about all that?


	12. Chapter 12

Ok. This chapter is going to be a bit different—remember the case that brought the BAU to NCIS in the first place—well, it has to be addressed in some form. Also, Emily didn't get shot for no reason, right? So here it is…

**Chapter Twelve: Dark eyed, Dark haired and Evil**

It took all of Hotch's internal strength to compartmentalize his new revelations and focus on the task at hand. No matter what he felt for Agent Prentiss—or Gibbs—he had to focus on the man who shot Emily. One of the men, anyway.

He had to suppress the rolling desire to grab the man and slam into the floor until _his _arm broke and he'd spend the next six weeks in a cast, too.

Franks was the same general age as the two agents and built along similar lines. Size and age, though, were the only attributes he had in common with the men. His hair was long, grayed, and frazzled. His skin was burnished and tough, the product of long years in the sun. But it was his eyes that bothered Hotch the most.

Franks' blue eyes were lit with an unholy glow that made Hotch infinitely glad he would be locked up behind bars for a long time. This man did not belong on the streets among the population.

"Mr. Franks, do you know why you're here?" Hotch began, knowing instinctively that he'd be the controlled interrogator no matter how much he desired to hit the son of a bitch.

This was the man who could have killed Emily.

But Agent Gibbs was to be the volatile interrogator, the intimidator, so Hotch had to be the cool headed one. Normally not that difficult for him, but this time, this suspect was different.. But he had to remain calm, no matter how loudly the primal part of him was screaming and demanding he hurt this man, and hurt him _bad _for what he had done to Emily.

He'd never had that much of a hatred for a suspect in his entire career. He hoped it didn't show.

"'_For dispatched thee, did he, the darked eyes back to hell.'" _The man's voice hissed. "I'm in line for my righteous reward."

"We'll get to your reward in a moment." Hotch said, forcing himself to stay in a relaxed position.

"What's that about the 'darked-eyes'?" Gibbs demanded roughly.

"The dark-eyed whores. The whole lot of them."

"How do you know that?" Hotch asked.

"Know what?" Franks asked.

"That they're all whores." Gibbs again.

"Says so, doesn't it?"

"What?" Gibbs demanded, getting closer to Franks' face, crowding the man.

"I shot the bitch and ground swallowed her and the other whole, didn't it?" The man shrugged, completely nonchalant. "I went out and looked and they were gone—nothing but disturbed dirt, wasn't there?"

"Mr. Franks, _why _did the ground swallow them up? Why them?" Hotch asked, withdrawing a small notebook and pen from his breast-pocket.

"Satan's Succubae! Always black-haired and black-eyed! Beautiful to tempt a man, drag him down to the land of Hell and Hades! Black eyed, black haired and fair of face, signs of a black soul, an evil race!"

"I have dark hair and dark eyes, why have I not been swallowed up?" Hotch inquired.

"Is this a trick?"

"No, why do you ask?" Hotch paused in his note taking, and Gibbs paused from his pacing in front of the observation window. DiNozzo and Morgan watched from the other side, taking notes and watching for anything the two senior agents might have missed.

"Only the dark-eyed whores are swallowed by the ground when they bleed."

"Who told you this?" Gibbs asked.

"Didn't have to be told. It's obvious, ain't it?" Franks said, his voice ringing with a faith and certainty that caught the men's attention. "Satan surrounds himself only devil-females. Evil soldiers set on destroying the righteous man."

"And the two women on your porch this morning?" Gibbs demanded.

"I couldn't let them in my house! '_I heard the forked and foreign tongue, sweet upon the sweet day's air, saw the darkest of the soulless eyes, and knew then, that they were coming for me!' _I could not let them! The Book, it says, _rise up ye warriors or right—suppress them, those harlots of Satan."_

"What book do you refer to?" Hotch asked.

"The Book of Words, God has given me."

"God gave you a book? You mean the Bible?" Gibbs asked.

"Blasphemy! No! not the Bible for it is old and outdated. I am the Prophet charged with delivering the true message for his people." Franks explained, earnestly.

"And dark-haired, dark-eyed women are not his people?" Hotch asked, furiously writing. "Because they are the harlots of Satan."

"Yes, man. Those women were evil Succubae, come to steal my soul. To silence my words. But I showed them, I showed them. _The earth shall part and swallow the evil, shall drink from their blood, until only the goodest of man shall survive to be fruitful. Rise up, ye warriors, rise up, rise up, rise up, rise up…"_


	13. Chapter 13

(Someone said they wanted a little more of the other team members, so here are a couple more, and I will try to bring in some others—after all, poor Rossi hasn't yet made an appearance—in the next chapter.)

Enjoy…

Chapter thirteen:

Emily considered herself to be a strong woman—strong and resourceful. Hadn't she stood up to Hotch, winning her place on the team from that very first day. Hadn't she made her feelings abundantly clear when he'd pulled her into his office during the Nathan Harris case? Telling him quite clearly how she thought about politics and what they did to people?

No Emily Prentiss never backed down, from anything. But now she was just too tired to care.

It had been one hellish day. After Abby Scuito's revelation earlier she'd spent several hours on the telephone, trying in vain to get the three bases involved to fax the sixteen case files to NCIS. Jurisdictional bull-shit was rearing an ugly head, and she had had a devil of a time keeping her cool.

She hated politics, but at any other time she could have handled every one of the eight phone calls with the ease of the diplomat's daughter that she was.

By the time all the files had been gathered she was exhausted, irritable, and in considerable pain. She wanted to hold off on taking any of the pain pills she'd been prescribed, not wanting to muddle her thinking. Still, aspirin just wasn't working.

She finally swallowed half of a pill and laid her head down on the desk, intending to just rest there for a few moments.

Tony and Morgan found her there an hour later. They'd just finished watching Gibbs and Hotch with Franks and were headed back to the bull-pen to type up their observation notes while they were fresh in their minds.

The other desks were all empty, everyone else busy with some task for either Rossi or Abby. Morgan stood over his pretty colleague and watched her sleeping for a few moments. "She's so stubborn."

"Is she?" DiNozzo asked, sinking in to his chair. "I haven't had much time to get to know her. Are all the men around her that way?"

"What do you mean?" Morgan asked, "What way?"

"Well, Gibbs certainly seems to like her, and your Hotchner glares at any guy who goes near her. Is it like that all the time?"

"I don't know what you think is going on With Hotch but he and Emily don't have that kind of thing. They work together, and to tell you the truth, I'm not so sure they even like each other half the time. As for Agent Gibbs, why is it such a surprise that he's attracted to her? She's a funny, beautiful, smart, and compassionate woman. Gibbs is a single man, so what's the big freakin' deal?"

"Gibbs only likes redheads." Tony said, "It's kind of a given, like sour cream on tacos."

"Tastes can change." Morgan said. He pulled Emily's hair out of her collar, giving her a bit more freedom of movement in her sleep. "Maybe Gibbs sees something in Emily he hasn't seen in any of his redheads?"

"Yeah, like her resemblance to Cait." Tony said softly. "We lost an agent a while back, dark haired, dark eyed. Looked and acted, and was about the same age, as your Prentiss there."

"Sorry, man. It's hard to lose a team mate, especially when its one of the women." Morgan said, thinking of Elle's ordeal. "Does something to you, you know."

"Yeah." Tony paused a moment. "We can't leave her there—it's gonna get busy in here with everyone meeting to campfire."

"Campfire?"

"Brainstorming session. With the entire teams, it's gonna be loud. We might wanna move her."

"You got any suggestions? I don't want to wake her up."

Tony thought a minute before making a decision. "Abby's lab."

"Why?"

"I hid a cot behind some DNA analysis thingie. Blanket, too. Sometimes, I end up working too late to drive home." Tony said. "I'll carry her down there."

"_I'll _carry her down there. Lead the way." Morgan bent down and pulled an unresisting Prentiss into his arms, arranging her casted arm with the utmost care.

"What are your feelings for her? Geez, don't you Feebies have a Rule 12?" Tony asked, watching the play of emotions on the other man's face.

"Rule 12? As for my feelings, they're none of your business." Morgan said, not taking the other man seriously. He'd been stuck with the man all day, and while he didn't quite approve of the way he acted with the women they'd came into contact with, he couldn't deny that the other man was probably one hell of an agent.

That aside—he didn't really want DiNozzo anywhere near the women of the BAU.

"Yeah, Gibbs' rule number twelve—don't date a co-worker. Looks likes you freebies definitely need to come up with your own version."

The two men continued to talk quietly as they waited for the elevator to arrive from the bottom floor. It slid open, revealing the two team leaders. Hotch took one look at the woman asleep in Morgan's arms and felt panic take hold.

"Morgan, what's wrong? Is she ok?" He asked, his tone was calm, but Morgan could here an underlying layer of worry.

"Just tired, man. We're taking her down to a cot, then will meet you up in the bull-pen. I don't think it's necessary to wake her up." Morgan said, unconsciously trying to read every nuance of his boss's face.

He'd like to think he knew Hotch pretty well. Hadn't he been able to sense when he and Hayley were having problems? Wouldn't he have been able to tell if Hotch was physically attracted to a member of the team?

He remembered when Prentiss first joined the team, how Hotch had been so obviously suspicious of the woman's political connections. Connections he'd taken advantage of several times since then. He remembered how Prentiss had vented to him in the car after several episodes with Hotchner.

He'd been partnered with her on several neighborhood canvases. He and Emily were pretty close; he'd been her unofficial babysitter when she'd first arrived at the BAU, and had grown to like and respect her. Hell, he'd even admit it—if she wasn't the kind of woman you married he would have hit on her long ago. He'd never told her how Hotch had pulled him aside and asked him about the woman's capabilities.

He'd known Hotch hadn't trusted her—which he'd thought was ridiculous. Anyone who'd ever worked even one case with Emily knew how dedicated she was to her job and how competent she was at what she did. He'd also known she'd resented Hotch, was intimidated by his unwavering lack of emotion—and suspicion. He'd thought they'd both gotten past that, had learned to work as a team—trusted each other.

He'd just chalked up their attitudes to the natural suspicion of an outsider and a new team.

But was it more than that? Had their buried hostilities been a shield for something much more complex? Was suspicion and mistrust Hotch's ways of suppressing his attraction for a subordinate, especially since he was married when he'd met Prentiss?

Was Prentiss's dislike a reaction to Hotch's treatment of her, or did she perhaps sense that the man felt more than just a professional attitude toward her?

As he and Tony entered the elevator, Morgan watched Hotch's face covertly, looking for any signs of what the man was feeling. If he looked closely, he could almost imagine Hotch's gaze lingered on Emily just a little longer than it should have.

The door closed, and began its descent as Morgan had one thought kept reverberating through his head. _If Hotch had feelings for Emily, life at the BAU was going to get downright tense._

He knew Hotch wouldn't know how to act on those feelings—but it would be interesting to see. If only the team managed to survive the storm without losing either Emily or Hotch.

It would be one hell of a bumpy ride. Morgan just hoped everyone would know to buckle their seatbelts.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen:

(In this chapter I am going to catch up with everyone else on the team, so there might not be that many Hotch or Emily moments…Enjoy)

Reid didn't want to admit it, but he was lost. He and JJ had spent the entire afternoon interviewing co-workers of the three latest victims, looking for a connection.

Other than the fact that fourteen of the sixteen had military connections and they all shared a general physical description, there was nothing to tie them together. It was frustrating.

"We're lost, aren't we?" JJ said, tapping her hand against the door frame.

"Lost implies a permanency. We are just temporarily misplaced." Spence said, hands tight around the wheel.

"Ok." JJ said, keeping the laughter to herself.

"JJ, can I ask you something?" Spencer said after a few more left turns.

"Of course."

"Do you think Emily still likes me? I've said some pretty rude things to her since the whole thing with Hinkle. I'd hate her to think that I didn't care about what's happened." Spencer's gut tightened as he recalled all the nasty things he'd said to the older woman when she'd expressed concern for him. It wasn't a pleasant experience, and he was glad she was going to be ok.

"Of course she likes you! Has she said anything to make you feel otherwise?"

"Well, no. But she doesn't say much when we're partnered together—not that we are that often."

"Emily's very reserved, especially when we're working, you know that." JJ said.

"With me, with Rossi, and with Hotch. But you, Garcia, and Morgan—she's a totally different woman. I'm sure she's already told you and Garcia about having coffee with Agent Gibbs, am I right?"

"How did you know about that? They were out past two."

"I was down in the lobby when he walked her to your room."

"We're girls, Spencer, and friends. We share that kind of thing."

"So you know he kissed her—and she didn't seem to mind."

"She told me—did she know you were watching?"

"No, I don't think so." Spencer paused before continuing. "That's not all—Hotch was awake, too."

"Hotch saw Gibbs kiss Emily?" JJ's eyes were wide and mouth opened in complete surprise.

"Yes. I don't think he was too happy about it."

"Oh, boy. You think that's why he was so rude to Gibbs?"

"Yep. I mean, you know how Hotch is, we're not supposed to get involved with someone while we're on a case. I don't want Emily to get into trouble."

"You think that's all it is?" JJ asked.

"What more could it be?"

"I don't know."

MCGEEMCGEEMGEEMCGEEMCGEE

"Hey, boss." McGee was the first to enter the bullpen, a sheath of papers in his hand. "I've got all the information about Franks and his family."

"Good McGee, anything important in it?" Gibbs asked, swigging from yet another cup of coffee.

"I don't know yet, uh, I'll get right on that, boss." McGee hurriedly spread the papers out over his desk.

"Do that."

Gibbs and Hotch stood, waiting for the rest of their teams to arrive. Neither man spoke. McGee could feel the tension radiating off the two men, and was hoping someone else would arrive to take the heat off of him.

The elevator door opened, and McGee was never more glad to see Tony and Morgan step out, bickering about something. Who would have thought Tim would ever be happy to see Tony?

"Hey, boss. Hey, McGeek." Tony said, smacking McGee in the back of the head. "We got anything?"

"You saw the interrogation, DiNozzo, what do _you _think we got?" Gibbs asked, snidely.

"Uh, Franks is a nutcase, but other than that, nothing. So how we gonna find the second shooter on the grassy knoll?" Tony asked, wadding paper into balls and tossing them half hazardly toward McGee's trashcan.

Hotch let him do this for only a moment, before reaching out a hand and snagging a paper missile. He gave the other man a look, and Tony straightened. He normally didn't care what the Feebs thought—but Hotchner had a ruthlessness about him that set Tony on edge.

The elevator opened again, revealing yet more of the team. Ziva and Ducky were discussing one of Ducky's stories, their differing accents mingling interestingly. Ziva moved to sit at her desk—one she was sharing with the attractive Agent Morgan—and settled into her chair. She didn't want to admit it, but she was hurting and tired. Ducky had tried to get her to go home, but she refused. Nothing to do at home but watch television, anyway.

JJ and Reid were the next to arrive, Reid spouting off some fount of trivial knowledge that JJ was pretending to be fascinated by. She always humored the younger man, was too polite to tell him to put a sock in it like Morgan had on several occasions. Abby came up the stairs less than half a minute later, slurping loudly from a big red cup.

"Hey Gibbs, Sir Mr. Hotchner, sir, Garcia says she's gonna stay with Agent Emily." Abby said. "Said she 'doesn't want her baby-girl to wake up all alone in my lab'. I don't know why it would matter, I gave Agent Emily my hippo."

"Your hippo?" JJ asked, brows rising.

"Stuffed hippo. Anytime someone sleeps in the lab, they'll wake up with a purple hippo as a pillow."

"Wonder what Emily will think of that?" JJ asked, snickering softly.

"Don't worry, I took pictures." Morgan said, waving his cell phone in JJ's direction.

"Good. We'll let Garcia Photoshop them later." JJ said, before turning to Hotch. "Where's Rossi?"

"Good question. I've not seen or heard from him all day." Morgan said, looking at his team leader. "What's up with that?"

"Oh, I do believe your agent accompanied Jenny to some meeting in Washington today." Ducky said, drawing everyone's attention his way.

"Making time with the director!" Tony snickered, only to be wacked on the back of the head. "Thanks, boss."

"So, do we have anything new?" Ziva asked, getting impatient with all the idle chatter. "Did Franks give you anything?"

"Give me a few minutes with my team and we'll be able to give you a starting profile." Hotch said. JJ and the rest of the team moved to gather around him.

"Anxiously awaiting." Gibbs said, giving every impression of insincerity.

"I'm sure." Hotch said, lip curling. It was the first anyone on his team could ever remember him showing such active dislike for any member of law enforcement.

JJ had a sneaking suspicion she knew why.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen:

(Ok, as a CM story, there has to be a profile that the local (NCIS) team can use to catch the guy…so with no further ado…here it is!)

Hotch and his team turned toward the NCIS team, ready to begin.

"We're looking for a white male, between the ages of 25 and 45." Hotch said.

"Most likely he'll be fair, blond or light brown hair, light eyes. He'll be a loner, preferring to stick close to his family and home." Morgan added.

"He's a hunter, capable of using both a hunting knife and a small caliber rifle." Reid was next.

"He's most likely a religious fanatic, someone who knows Franks." Hotch said, hands unconsciously fisting. "Might even be a relative, though that's not a guarantee."

"This guy is a ritualistic killer and a preferential one. It's all about the routine with him, and about the physical description of his victim. Dark eyed, dark haired. But him using a rifle with Franks is out of the pattern. The sixteen victims were all killed with a hunting knife." Reid added.

"Preferential?" McGee asked, taking notes.

"He knows his type, and he'll kill that type whenever he can. It's rare that he'll deviate from it."

"So he'll only kill dark-eyed, dark-haired women?" Ducky asked, always fascinated with the idea of profiling.

"Most likely. If he's cornered, though, he'll kill whomever gets in his way." Morgan said. "Man, woman, or child."

"This is someone who's been trained for most likely his whole life to believe he was doing some deity's work." Said Reid, "But their has to have been a stressor to have triggered this recent rash of killings. He's escalated, but not devolved. The first two murders happened over a two week time span, the last four where all within four days of each other. Each one was a clean and methodical as the first. This guy has a purpose, a mission, and he is ruthless about carrying it out. If the routine is disturbed, he will get angry, maybe make a mistake. But so far, his routine has not been disturbed."

"Meaning?" Tony asked.

"Meaning he's not been killing them where he finds them, he's taking them to his comfort zone, someplace he feels the utmost comfort. Then he's returning them to wherever he wants them found." Hotch said. "Reid, where have the bodies been found?"

"Three were found near the gates to the naval base, two more were at the foot of a seminary, Hotch. The remaining eleven were found on the base themselves, most in front of the single women's quarters."

"So he's also someone who is familiar enough with the bases to leave a body out in the open without being seen. Most likely he grew up around here or works on base. This man is clever, calm, sociopathic, and methodical. Might be some hints of OCD." Morgan said.

"That's all?" Gibbs asked, not wanting to admit he was slightly impressed.

"That's all." Hotch said.

"So we're looking for an average, light haired guy, who enjoys hunting and either lives or works on the base." Tony said. "And now how are we supposed to find him?"

"Somebody knows this guy." A female voice said from behind Hotch and Gibbs. Emily stood beside Garcia, tired, pale and rumpled. "He's most likely employed. Part-time, and beneath his perceived capabilities. Probably on base. He's most likely dating someone, but it's not a healthy relationship—especially for her. She's most likely a blond woman, or very light brown with lighter eyes. He's probably got a record, but most likely for small petty crimes."

"Good point." Hotch said. He pulled out an empty chair and motioned Prentiss into it, half afraid she'd fall down if he didn't. "Garcia, can you run all base personnel, searching for—"

"Minor criminal records. Gotcha my esteemed leader. Scuitto, let's go play. Emily, you take it easy! If you start hurting, take a break—no sense trying to be Wonder-woman. Hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am." Emily said, corner of her mouth quirking at the blond woman's obvious concern.

Emily wasn't used to being the center of attention, she was used to being independent and capable. Of leading and taking charge when necessary. This being the pampered weakness of the team was new to her—and entirely abhorrent to her.

Hotch could almost feel what she was thinking, even though he had barely looked at her. He understood her, how she hated to be the center of everyone's attention and concern. It was exactly how he would react if there positions were reversed, and how much he wished it was.

Had he sent someone other than Prentiss, shots most likely wouldn't have been fired. He should have known, should have seen the resemblance between her, Officer David, and the sixteen dead women.

Dammit, why hadn't he noticed that before? He was always careful when one of the women on the team resembled the victims--and since a considerable portion of their cases involved female victims, it was a common enough occurrence—to send them out with either him or Morgan. Just to be on the safe side.

Why hadn't he noticed that both Emily and David, were a perfect match for the victimology?

Because he was letting what occurred between Agent Gibbs and Prentiss affect his judgment. Who was he to care if Prentiss was attracted to Agent Gibbs? There was no specific rule against meeting someone while on a case, although fraternization within the BAU unit itself was against his rules. Rules he'd set into effect when he had first helped organize the BAU.

Of course, if he was honest, those rules were his and not the FBIs. He wasn't naïve enough to realize that agents didn't date all the time. In the world they worked in, with the things they saw, it was somewhat unrealistic to expect members of the outside world to understand.

He knew Hayley hadn't.

He had no right to be angry at Emily for letting Agent Gibbs kiss her the other night. No right; it was Emily's business and had no bearing on the case they were trying to solve.

So why did that kiss bother him so badly?


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen…

Ok…this thing has taken on a life of its own, but because there are VERY few longer Prentiss stories I am just gonna see where it goes…

And now it's time for Hotch and Emily to actually interact with each other!

Enjoy….

As everyone began to bustle about, trying to match the new profile with someone, she was extremely aware that Hotch still stood, looking down at her. He dropped into the chair nearest hers and turned to face her.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, one warm hand wrapping around her uncasted one.

"I'm fine," She told him, inexplicably nervous.

"No, you're not." He said bluntly, hand tightening on hers when she tried to back away. "You're tired, you're hurting, and you're stressed. But you think you have something to prove—either to me, the team, or even yourself."

"Inter-team profiling, Hotch?" Emily leaned back in her chair, trying to put distance between them. "Thought we didn't do that."

"If I'm concerned about any member of my team, I'll do whatever I havte to."

"If I need your help, I'll ask." Emily snapped.

"And I'll offer it. But you've nothing to prove, Prentiss."

"I know that. But if I'm going to be here, I'm going to do my part. If not, I might as well head back to DC." Emily said, trying unsuccessfully to pull her arm free of his grip. It was the first time she could recall him actually touching her. "I'm going to do my part, not to _prove _anything to anyone, but for sixteen women who didn't get a chance to do their part."

Her dark eyes met his before she continued, and he was struck by the shadows lurking in them. Shadows that only showed on rare occasions and made him wonder just what she'd suffered to put them there. "I would think you'd could understand that, sir. I think you can trust me to know my own limitations by now."

"I do understand, and I do trust you. That doesn't stop me from being concerned."

"If you trust me, you know I'll be fine. But I really want to catch this guy." She finally got her hand free and used it to rub at her eyes.

"We will—I promise you that."

"Then shouldn't we be doing something? What did you get from Franks? Did he say why?"

"Why he fired at you? He's delusional and believes all dark headed, dark eyed women to be the soldiers of Satan. He's a wannabe prophet, been told to cleanse the world of those he perceives as evil."

"So he thought Ziva and I were these soldiers."

"So he says."

"Most likely he knows who the UNSUB is. But why would the UNSUB shoot _toward _Franks?" Hotch could almost see the wheels turning in her head. "I want to talk to him."

"Absolutely not." Hotch's flesh actually crawled at the thought of her interrogating the man who had already hurt her. Franks was an insane fanatic, there was no telling what he'd do with Emily so close to him. His hand moved, grabbing her much smaller one in his. "You've been injured, you're tired, and stressed. Vulnerable. You can't keep control of an interrogation right now."

Emily was ever conscious of the hand holding hers, its warmth inexplicably comforting—despite the stress the man himself was causing. "We already know I fit the victimology, and am a trigger. Maybe I can get him to talk."

Hotch could almost feel each individual bone in her hand, reminding him that although she was as capable as any agent he'd ever seen, she was still small, and fragile. "It's not a good idea."

"You'd let Morgan if he was a trigger." Emily said, anger tingeing her words.

"Not if he was injured, I wouldn't." Hotch said, although he knew it was a weak argument.

"Yes, you would." Emily insisted. "I can do this. I know I can—_you _know I can."

As they'd spoken, they'd not noticed most of the other agents had surrounded them, listening shamelessly to the argument.

"She's got a point, man." Morgan said, his earlier suspicions almost confirmed by Hotch's apparent protectiveness. "And you and I both know she's one hell of an interrogator."

"Under normal circumstances—this isn't normal circumstances." Hotch said, sending the other man a look of reproach. Couldn't Morgan see that he just wanted to make sure Emily remained safe?

"I can do this, Hotch. Morgan can be in the room, as well."

"No. If you're going to do it, I'll be there." He finally relented, knowing he had no _reasonable _reason against it. But he'd be there to make absolutely certain Franks didn't move so much as half a foot closer to Emily than he had to be.

HOTHOTCHOTHOTCH

"You ready?" Hotch asked, looking at the two women behind him. Gibbs had insisted that Ziva sit in on the investigation as well. Since it was a joint jurisdictional case—Hotch couldn't object.

But nothing said he had to like it.

Every primitive instinct within him was screaming that the women—especially Emily—should not get within a hundred yards of Franks.

"Ready." Emily said, her tone resolute and determined.

"Let's get this on." Ziva said. She'd removed the bandages from her forehead, and the wounds were red and raw. But bandages—in her mind—were a sign of weakness. If she had her way, only she and Agent Emily would be in the room.

But she had her suspicions as to why Hotchner would never allow _that. _

"Remember, Agent Prentiss will do the questioning. You just watch for tells." Hotch said.

"This is not my first interrogation, Agent Hotch. Agent Emily can ask the questions. I will just make sure he answers." Ziva exaggerated only a little, to yank Hotch's string, a little.

"This is by the book, Officer David. Do you understand?"

"Do not worry, Agent Gibbs told me I could not kill _this _man." Ziva said, shrugging her shoulders ruefully at Emily.

Emily had a good idea that the younger woman was just trying to torment Hotchner—she probably did that with everyone.

Hotch was more than a little convinced that she meant it. He was infinitely glad it was Gibbs who had to keep this woman on a leash and not him.

"Good to hear." He said as he opened the heavy door. "Mr. Franks, my colleagues and I have a few more questions."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen…

(This chapter sets up the next one and is from our most observant hottie's point of view…enjoy)

Morgan watched through the tinted window as first Hotch, then Emily and Officer David entered the interrogation room, where Franks sat, wrists cuffed to the table.

Hotch had insisted the man be fully restrained while the women were in the room, and Morgan agreed with that dictate one hundred percent. He'd expressed support for Emily, earlier, but actually seeing her sitting across from that bastard Franks just settled wrong in his stomach.

He watched Franks face as Hotch identified the two women, but the man had a wiliness on his face that belied his earlier fanaticism.

Franks looked up, and though Emily's back was to Morgan he could see Franks' eyes running up and down over her frame. The mixture of loathing and sexual heat in the bastard's eyes confused the hell out of Morgan. If the man was a true religious fanatic, there would be no sexual component to the case. Franks' eyes conveyed that he had one thought when he looked at Emily, and it wasn't to kill her. So why had he shot at her and David?

Morgan mentally reviewed the facts of the sixteen murders, but there was no obvious sexual undertone. Even without Sciutto's trajectory results, he'd know this wasn't the killer they were looking for.

But he had to agree with Emily and Hotch—Franks _knew _who the shooter was. Question was—would he give the guy up? The man had shot at Franks as well—would Franks so-called religion and loyalty keep him from giving the guy over?

Morgan watched as Hotch moved to stand directly beside Emily. His appeared relaxed, although Morgan could tell by the way he kept moving his hands that he was ready and waiting for Franks to make a wrong move.

Morgan didn't know what Hotch was afraid of—he'd ordered the man shackled. Morgan's attention sharpened as Franks turned his body more in the direction of the only other man in the room. "She yours?"

"In a manner of speaking, Mr. Franks. Please direct any discussion toward Agent Prentiss. Officer David and I are just here to observe." Hotch said, coldly.

"Maybe I don't want to the Agent Prentiss." Franks said, a sly tone in his voice that hadn't been present during the earlier interview. Morgan frowned, wondering what the man was thinking.

Hotch's fists clenched and he crossed his arms over his chest, deliberately closing himself off to Franks. This was Emily's show, he was just there to keep her safe.

"Then we'll just sit here until you do." Emily said, calmly. It was vitally important that she maintain control of the discussion, and by allowing him to focus on Hotch—she would be giving control to one of the two men.

Not this time—this was her game.

"We'll be waiting a while, then." Franks smirked. He motioned with his chin to the cast on her arm. "Did I do that?"

"Maybe it was your bullet. Maybe it was someone else's." She said. "I think it was someone else's. I don't think you could have shot me."

"You don't?"

Morgan watched as Franks tried to pretend his interest wasn't peaked. To a trained interrogator the signs were clear. He mentally congratulated his female colleague at her tactics. He'd probably have gone on the assault, where as she was going about her questioning in a much more subtle manner.

He'd always admired Em's style—no doubt about that. Today, he admired her strength and persistence. Woman probably should have been driven back to her place in DC, but she'd chosen to stay at the hotel. (Even though they were well within driving distance of the Capitol—they'd chosen to stay together in the hotel for convenience sake.)

"No, I don't." Emily said, shrugging her uninjured shoulder dismissively. "From what our tests tell us, you are a poor marksmen."

"You're tests are bullshit." Franks snarled, turning to look at her directly, now.

_Way to go, Em. _Derek thought. She'd made a good call insulting his masculinity. For a traditionalist like Franks, attacking his skills as a hunter or provider was the ultimate insult.

"I'd have hit you—or that other one—if you hadn't moved." Franks said. His glare said it all—if he wasn't cuffed he'd have showed her just what skills he possessed.

"Well, I did. What does your great book say about that?" Emily asked, as casually as if she was inquiring about the weather. "Will you get your great reward now?"

"Don't talk about the Book that way! You've no right." Franks bellowed, lunging forward in his chair. The cuffs on his ankles—bolted to the floor—kept him from reaching her.

But it was enough for Hotch. When Franks had moved, he'd moved as well, pulling Emily's chair back and stepping between her and the table.

Derek started to move, ready to enter the interrogation and help Hotch calm the man down, when Officer David stepped behind Franks. With one small hand squeezing the man's shoulder, the Moussad agent forced Franks back down in his chair.

"Agent Emily has more questions for you, Mr. Franks. I suggest you answer them. I am getting tired, and hungry. That makes me—what is the word—bitchy. You don't want to see me bitchy, Mr. Franks."

"You some kind of super-demon?" Franks demanded, though it wasn't very effective. His eyes were watering, and he trembled.

Ziva held him in place for several long moments until she was convinced he understood the severity of her threat. "Now, Agent Emily. If you'd ask the questions we are all so dying to know the answer to, then we can go for Chinese."

"Infidels." Franks said quietly. "You dark eyed's never can be satisfied with American anything. Always wanting something foreign. Nothing a man ever does is good enough."

The rest of the interview went round and round, with Franks avoiding Emily's questions. He didn't break, and Hotch finally motioned Emily to bring it to a close.

He could see she was getting passed tired and he wanted her back to the hotel to rest as soon as possible. As for Franks—they'd have to get there information another way.

Derek waited until Officer David had already exited the interrogation room and the guards had long removed Franks to enter. Emily sat at the table, rearranging papers in the files, while Hotch stood silently, looking over her shoulder. Neither was looking at the other, and Derek could almost sense Emily's palpable sense of failure.

He knew she was hoping for more. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder, smiling softly at her when she jumped at his touch. "Eas y there, chick. I've got a theory."

"What?" Hotch demanded.

Morgan looked at him, taking in the lines around his mouth, the way he stood directly behind Emily—much closer than he'd ever seen the man get to the younger woman. "I think Franks' has been married. Most likely to a dark-eyed, dark-haired woman. Probably common law, since we couldn't find any records of a marriage."

"What makes you think that?" Hotch asked, still not moving from his position behind Emily. He had a sneaking suspicion she'd need someone to lean on until they got back to the hotel. He just knew, somehow, that she was past the point of exhaustion.

"The way he said, _all you dark-eyed women are never satisfied. _That wasn't a religious belief in demons, Hotch, but a personal reflection based most likely on past experience."

"So?" Emily asked, "Where does that leave us? I'm sorry, Hotch, I thought I'd be able to break him."

"Hey, don't say that." Hotch began, "We've learned one thing—Franks' act of fanaticism earlier, was just that. Now we know. You did a good job, Emily. Don't doubt that. You always do. Come on, honey, let's get you back to the hotel. You can let Garcia fuss over you a bit, eat, and then get some rest. It's been one hell of a day."

Emily let him and Derek help her gather the files, and she accepted a helping hand from her chair from Hotch.

Derek watched the interchange and wondered if either one of them realized the emotions Hotch conveyed as he spoke to her, or were aware that he'd called her _honey. _Or that the man stood way too close to his colleague.

He wondered if either one of them was aware of what was going on between them at all?

Could two profilers be so blind?


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

I've finally had a chance to update this story…

My schedule is very full right now, so updates on stories will be a bit slower in coming. I will be updating the companion piece to this 'Agent Gibbs and the BAU Agent' once I finish this story entirely. I also hope to update 'Prentiss's Find' and 'Ziva's Treasure' as frequently as I can.

(I've recently been informed my timeline is off…so I am changing this story to be set in the later fourth of season Three of CM and Season Five of NCIS—that way I can include all the information I have on the characters up to—but not including—the season finales)

So here it is….

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Hotch pulled the SUV up to the hotel and exited, handing the keys to the waiting valet. Morgan jumped from the passenger seat and hurriedly opened the rear door.

He'd intended to lift a sleeping Prentiss from the vehicle and carry her up to her room. JJ and Garcia were already in the room, and Morgan had planned to turn her over to Garcia's care. But Hotch beat him to her. The older man held her close, her head tucked under his chin, her legs draped over his arm.

Prentiss didn't even stir. Derek smiled softly, his boss's dilemma very amusing. to say the least. Hotch had changed in the last year, year and a half. Since Elle, since Gideon, since Reid and Hinkle, since Hayley had left. He'd grown even more reserved, colder even. His defenses had thickened and Derek wondered if Hotch realized just how much.

If Emily could be the one to help soften Hotch—all the more power to both of them. Derek was all for that. With all his years of studying people it was more than obvious that they'd be good for each other. If they'd just do something about it.

He had no doubts they'd be able to keep it out of the office, so why shouldn't they be allowed to do whatever they wanted outside of work? Interoffice affairs might not be a good idea, but they happened all the time—even in the FBI. Wasn't Malone's team over in Missing Persons chock full of them?

So if Malone and his team can do it—why shouldn't Hotch's?

JJGARCIAJJGARCIAJJGARCIAJJGARCIA

JJ opened the door at the knock expecting to see Morgan standing there with Emily. He'd called ahead and told her to be waiting, that Emily had fallen asleep.

Instead, she was half-right. Hotch stood with Emily cuddled tight against his chest. If the dark headed woman had been awake, JJ knew she'd be mortified. JJ's eyes flew to Hotch's face, not surprised to see the completely inscrutable look in his dark eyes. Morgan stood directly behind him, a half smile on his handsome face.

"Hotch." JJ said, inexplicably tongue-tied. _What were you supposed to say when your boss knocked on your door, holding your friend sleeping in his arms? _Her marketing experience really hadn't prepared her for that. "Hey, how is she?"

"Hurting, tired, obstinate. Thinks she has something to prove." Hotch said, entering the room. He scanned it quickly before alighting on the unoccupied mattress by the window. It was a two-bed room, just like the one he shared with Rossi. Garcia had her laptop and notes spread out on the one bed, so Hotch lowered his burden onto the free bed. JJ moved closer to take off Emily's shoes.

"Sounds like Em." JJ said. "We'll take it from here."

Hotch almost protested but stopped himself—what could he say, really? Just let me sit here and stare at my subordinate while she sleeps? He doubted that would go over very well. Especially with Emily.

"Morgan, my love, got any more shirts to donate to the cause?" Garcia asked, rifling through the bag Hotch recognized as Emily's.

"Afraid not, sweet thing. That's the last of my shirts she's wearing now, baby girl."

"Shirts?" Hotch asked.

"Something she can slip over the cast, handsome. You have any contributions?"

"I've a couple button ups. I'll send them over shortly." Hotch said, some primal part of him glad she'd be sleeping in one of his shirts rather than Morgan's. "Well, good-night, ladies. I'll expect to see you both bright and early tomorrow morning. Tell Prentiss if she needs it, take tomorrow off."

"I'll tell her, sir, but I seriously doubt she'd do it." JJ said, strangely wanting her boss to leave. Something about his intensity was different, and it made her decidedly nervous. "Well, good night. Good night, Derek."

"See you in the morning, JJ. Doll face, don't you stay up too late, hear me?" Morgan said, winking at Garcia.

"I'll send the shirts over shortly." Hotch said, as the two men left.

EMILYPRENTISSEMILYPRENTISSEMILYPRENTISSEMILYPRENTISSEMILYPRENTISSEMILYPRENTISS

Emily woke the next morning hurting like hell. She rolled over and groaned, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep.

That wasn't going to happen.

JJ and Garcia—already awake and dressed—peered down at her from opposite sides of the bed.

"Hey, my sweet girl. How you feeling?" Garcia asked.

"Ouch." Emily said, smiling ruefully. "What time is it?"

"Nearly six." JJ said, sinking onto the bed beside her. "Hotch wants us at NCIS by seven-thirty. He said you could take the day off if you need it."

"No, I can work." Emily said, sitting up. "Um, how did I get back here?"

"Hotch and Morgan. Do you remember driving with them?" JJ asked.

"Vaguely."

"Um, do you remember _Hotch _carrying you to the room?" Garcia asked, rubbing her hands together at the _yumminess _of Hotch carrying Emily. Just like in an _Officer and a Gentleman—_despite the fact that Emily was unconscious at the time.

"What?"

"Yep." JJ explained, "Apparently you fell asleep on the ride over and before Morgan could wake you up or even _pick _you up—Hotch had you. You seriously don't remember? Do you remember me waking you up later to change into that shirt you're wearing?"

"Do you _recognize _the shirt you're wearing?" Garcia asked, nearly giggling.

Emily looked down at herself, taking in the soft cotton shirt covering her body. It was white with yellow and blue pinstripes. It was one she'd seen Hotch wearing on several occasions. "Oh."

"Yeah, apparently you'd worn all of Morgan's extras, so Hotch volunteered a few." JJ said, watching Emily's eyes for any hint of reaction.

"Why don't I remember any of this?" Emily moaned. "Did anything else happen? Anything I need to know?"

"Well," JJ started, looking between Emily and Garcia. She didn't know if Garcia knew about Gibbs kissing Emily, but it was about to be out in the open. "Hotch saw Gibbs kiss you the other night."

"He did?"

"Yes. So did Spence. He's afraid Hotch was mad at you—and Gibbs—for that."

"Agent Hottie kissed you?" Garcia squealed. "And Hotch _saw _this?"

"So?" Emily asked. "What I choose to do after hours is no business of Hotch's."

"You really don't get it do you, Em?" JJ asked, "Spence thinks _Hotch _was jealous!"

"You cannot be serious." Emily said. "_That _will never happen."

"So there's nothing between you and Hotch?" Garcia asked, disappointed. "You two would be so good together, chickie."

"I swear to you—they're will never be anything more than professional between me and Aaron Hotchner. I guarantee that!"

"If you say so." JJ and Garcia said almost in unison. "If you say so."

"I do."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

(I mention that something happens in Emily's life five years before this story takes place—don't worry, I'll explain what happens in another story that is floating around the back of my mind. Hopefully I can start it after I finish this one.)

Emily felt disconcerted the entire time she was getting ready. She didn't know whether it was from the events of the day before or from the discussion with JJ and Garcia. She finished her shower—arm incased in a plastic bag—and dressed as best she could. JJ helped her slip a clean shirt over her shoulder and Emily buttoned it awkwardly. It was the softest cotton and she recognized the blue shirt as one Hotch wore on a regular basis.

It felt more than a little odd wearing his shirt. Not like wearing Morgan's at all. Morgan was a friend, she'd like to think he was a close one, but Hotch was something entirely different. He was always a _sir _to her. The chain of command ran strong in Hotch, he was always so separate from the rest of the team—he and Rossi—that even after all this time, she didn't know how to relate to him.

If she was entirely honest, she'd admit he was an attractive man, she'd always went for the cool, collected man. He fit it to a tee. But she'd been attracted to men before—even men she'd worked with.

But Emily Prentiss had drawn a line a long time ago—five years to be exact—that was very clear. She'd never date someone she worked with—ever.

That especially included her immediate supervisor. Her career meant too much to her—as did her reputation. No matter what feelings of attraction she held for the man—she'd never act on them.

Hotch's shirt hung well below her waist and she felt slightly dwarfed by the cotton. She managed to slip on the one pair of jeans she'd packed, though zipping them up was a trail. But she managed. She was determined that _no one _was going to have to help her fasten her own pants—it just wasn't going to happen.

Still, she was showered, dressed, and ready to leave when JJ and Garcia were, so she didn't do too half badly. Even if she did feel extremely under-dressed. Fastening her bra had proved more difficult then she could ever have imagined, but she'd done it. She never would have imagined a day when getting dressed by herself would seem like a giant accomplishment. But it was.

Once back at NCIS headquarters she settled in front of her desk and relaxed in her chair for a moment, waiting for the rest of the teams to arrive.

Today, she was going bastard hunting. Whoever had shot at her had experienced his last day as a free man.

DiNozzo was the first to arrive, a fact that shocked Emily, JJ, and Garcia. Until the bleary-eyed man pulled a toothbrush from his desk and sat there and groomed himself in front of them. It was several moments before he even realized he had an audience.

Emily was by far the most appalled. She'd never get 'ready' in the office, no matter how many days they'd been on a case. She'd always find a shower, someplace, somewhere. "Good morning, Agent DiNozzo."

"Oh. Hi." Tony said, face showing not the least little bit of awkwardness at being caught brushing his teeth by three women. "I, uh, didn't quite make it home last night. But don't worry, I keep extra shirts here. You never know when you'll get something on you in this job."

"So you always change in the middle of the bullpen?" Garcia asked enthusiastically. "Jinkies, things are much more relaxed at NCIS than the BAU."

"It's a great place to work." Tony agreed, before pulling a shirt from the bottom drawer of his desk. "You three don't mind, do you?"

"No, not at all." Garcia answered for the three of them.

"Ok, then." Tony unbuttoned his shirt before pausing, "Turn around, ladies! What kind of guy do you think I am?"

"Oh, I think we know exactly what kind of man you are, Agent DiNozzo." Emily snickered as she and her colleagues dutifully turned their backs to the now half naked man. "We are profilers, after all."

"Well, to be technical, my dear goddess of the strange, _you're _the only profiler here at the moment." Garcia pointed out.

"Good point, Pen." Emily said, "Can we turn around yet, DiNozzo?"

"Please do." A voice definitely not DiNozzo's drawled. The three women spun around in their chairs with identical guilty expressions on their faces to find Gibbs, Hotch, and Rossi standing behind DiNozzo.

"Don't we have a serial killer to catch, DiNozzo?" Gibbs continued.

"Uh, yes, boss. I was just, uh, making sure I was presentable. We have freebies in the building you know…thanks, boss." Tony rubbed the back of his head as the rest of the teams shuffled in and settled around the desks.

"What do we know?" Gibbs demanded. "And where the hell is Ziva and Abby?"

"We are here, Gibbs." Ziva said, standing behind the man.

"So we're all here?" Gibbs asked, drolly. "Hotchner, you wanna do roll call, or should I?"

"I don't think that will be necessary." Hotch said, completely devoid of emotion. "Let's review, shall we?"

"We know Franks is connected to the UNSUB." Reid began, sitting on top of McGee's desk next to Abby. "We've been checking into his relatives, coworkers, etc going back ten years. Someone has seen the UNSUB with Franks."

"After the second interrogation, I'm not sure the whole fanatic ideal for Franks is accurate. There's something sexual in the way he thinks." Morgan added. "But the UNSUB might be a different story."

"It's possible that if Franks was that highly influential his beliefs on a certain type of woman could have manifested in the UNSUB as a religious ideology that is warped." Rossi said, his first real contribution to the case since it had begun.

"So a certain typology, dark-haired and dark-eyed, obviously, first originated with Franks but was exacerbated in the UNSUB?" JJ asked, taking notes furiously. She didn't really need to, but not being a profiler made her want to doubly be sure she got everything right. "So wouldn't the UNSUB have to be some who at one time was some how subordinate to Franks?"

"Good point. He'd have to be," Hotch said, moving to stand directly behind Prentiss. "Someone younger, maybe in a pseudo-parent/child relationship. He was indoctrinated by Franks, but has taken the teachings of Franks to a whole new level."

"I think I got something!" McGee suddenly shouted, and everyone turned to look at the man. "Franks had a woman living with him for twelve years. She had two sons from a previous marriage. Todd and David."

"I want more, McGee." Gibbs ordered.

"Yes, boss. I'm working on it. Melissa Marks, now at 221 W Frankfort Blvd, Norfolk VA." McGee said.

"McGee—go see the woman. Find out what you can about her boys." Gibbs ordered. "DiNozzo, you and I will go talk to all of Franks' previous employers.

"Morgan, you and JJ go with Agent McGee." Hotchner said. "Call me if you find out anything. Reid, you and Rossi see what you can find out on either of the sons. Garcia—can you work your magic?"

"Of course!" Garcia said, as she and Abby headed to the elevators.

Emily watched the movement as everyone left a little envious. She hadn't even been acknowledged during the assignments. Soon it was just her, Ziva, and Hotch left.

"I believe I will go see Dr. Ducky." Ziva said, abruptly, noticing the odd tension between the two BAU agents. She didn't want to be a third wheel. "See if he maybe missed anything in autopsy."

Neither agent acknowledged her words and she shrugged, a half smile on her face. People were sometimes so amusing.

They'd been alone for nearly five minutes before Emily had had enough. She scooted the wheeled chair she was sitting in over to the desk beside hers. "And what can I do, Agent Hotchner?"

"Can you look into each of the victims, see if their might be a connection to either a Todd or David Marks or Franks?" Hotch said, looking up from the file he held. His dark eyes met hers. "I'll do the same with these here."

"Of course. Uh, thanks for the loan of the shirt. I'll get it back to you once we're back home." Emily said, awkwardly.

"No problem." Hotch said, feeling a slight blush touch his cheeks, which was completely ridiculous. He'd learned long ago to hide his emotions at all times. "I'd hope you'd know by now that if you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask."

"I know that."

"Do you?"


	20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

(All right, it is winding down now. This story will NOT be a 'they realize they're madly in love with each other and will live happily ever after cheese fest of fanfiction. Real relationships just flat out don't work that way, and two such complex individuals as Hotch and Prentiss doubly wouldn't act that rashly—This is however, the first step to that reality, and I hope you enjoy! This will most likely be the last (or second to last chapter) of the story. And the SUV she and Ziva are in is an older model—does not have shatter-resistant glass. I hope you all enjoyed!)

HOTCHEMILY HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Emily thought about Hotch's words long after he'd gone down to the lab to check out Garcia's latest find. Of course, she'd told him she trusted him. What else was she supposed to say?

What she didn't know, was whether she really did. Did she trust him? She'd have to think about that.

She read over the files on her desk, then reread them, hoping she'd find something that would tie into Franks. No luck.

She was about to take a lunch break when the elevator doors opened and Hotch, Gibbs, and Rossi stepped out, purpose in their strides. She knew immediately that they'd found something.

"What? What is it?" She demanded, moving to stand in their path.

"Todd Marks, after his mother left Franks, Todd chose to stay with him, he and his brother. His mother didn't object. The boys were fifteen, twelve and old enough to know their own minds. Morgan and DiNozzo are talking to her now. McGee, Reid, and JJ are talking to Todd's co-workers. We're going to his most recent address." Hotch explained, one hand unconsciously rising to rest on her arm. His fingers flexed on the blue cotton of her—his—shirt as he spoke.

"I'm coming, too." Emily said. "I'll stay by the car. I won't be in direct contact."

"I don't think that's such a good idea." Hotch said, the thought chilling him as much as seeing her across the interrogation table from Franks had.

"Hotch, I need to." Emily said, feeling the strength of his fingers around her arm. His warmth soaked through the sleeve of the shirt and heated her flesh. "Don't you trust me?"

"You stay _in _the car, Agent Prentiss." Hotch ordered, softly. "Don't get out of it under any circumstances. This man has shown himself to be a competent sniper, and he's adept with a knife. You won't be a match for him, not now with your dominant hand in a cast. You cannot be a target at all."  
  
"I won't." Emily promised. "I'll be there strictly as an observer."

"I'll hold you to that."

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

They left Ziva to guard her. Emily wasn't stupid-she knew why the younger woman waited in the driver's seat. A—they'd both been injured, B--they fit the victimology, and C—the two team leaders were grossly over-protective.

So the two women sat there, waiting. Waiting for something, anything. Emily normally was a very patient woman—the woman beside her, obviously was not.

"So this profiling hocus pookus—it really is as accurate as you all say?" Ziva asked to fill the silence. She sat behind the wheel of an FBI SUV, Prentiss in the passenger seat beside her. They could see Hotch and Gibbs in position, Morgan and DiNozzo behind them.

"Hocus Pocus. Long O sound," Emily absently corrected. "Statistically, we can accurately predict certain behaviors—it's all based on patterns and factors. Of course, we have to know the factors to make an accurate profile."

"Are you ever wrong?"

"Occasionally, not often. Every wrong profile is a step closer to a right one." Emily said, distractedly. The door had opened and Hotch, Gibbs, Morgan and DiNozzo stood talking to the owner. Emily couldn't see him fully, but saw enough to know whomever had answered was smaller than Hotch, thinner. Fair haired. Probably light eyed though she was, of course, too far away to be certain.

"This him, you think?" Ziva asked.

"Maybe. He fits the profile." Emily said, watching as Hotch and Gibbs pulled the man out of the house and onto the porch.

Something wasn't sitting right with Emily. "This is off."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't think this guy is him. Look at his body language. He's frightened, cowed. Our UNSUB's not the least bit frightened. He's an adrenaline seeker who feels he's doing his job. He'd be almost 'pumped' by all of this. Especially at being questioned by the government."

"This guy is definitely intimidated by whatever they're asking, isn't he?" Ziva asked, watching the man shake his head and look down after Hotch apparently asked him a question. "So if it's not him—who is it?"

"I don't know." Emily said. "But I'm sure Hotch and Morgan have realized the same thi--" Before Emily could finish her thought the back passenger window of the SUV shattered—sending shards flying over the two agents.

"Get down!" Ziva shouted, unnecessarily. Emily was already down in the floorboard, gun gripped awkwardly in her left hand. Ziva was crunched under the steering wheel, her own weapon at the ready.

"What the hell?" Emily said, tersely. "Dammit! We need to see what's going on!"

She wasn't to get her wish—the back window of the SUV shattered, drowning out Ziva's reply.

All they could do was huddle in the floorboard and pray that whatever bullets the man was using weren't designed to pierce through metal. And that the rest of their teams could somehow help them.

Emily darted a glance at Ziva, quickly checking for signs of injury. The other woman seemed fine. Glass glinted in her dark pony-tail, but the NCIS cap she wore appeared to have protected her face from the flying glass.

Emily, herself hadn't been so lucky. She wasn't wearing a hat, and she was on the side closest to the shooter. Glass had cut her cheek, and the plaster of her cast had several pieces imbedded within it. She thought briefly on the irony of if she had been shot again—it would have been in that same arm.

Three times in one arm would have been just way too much.

It seemed like hours passed before Ziva's door was suddenly jerked open. Less than half a second later the passenger side door was pulled open. Hotch stood there, breathing heavily, fear written on his face. "Emily?"

"We're ok." Emily reassured him as he reached in and pulled her out of the floor board. "I'm ok."

"Thank God. When we realized the son of a bitch was shooting at the SUV…" Hotch said, jerking her almost roughly against his chest—her cast banging awkwardly against his waist. "I didn't know what to think, couldn't even breathe."

"I'm ok, honest." Emily's free arm was wrapped around his back, holding him tightly, as his hands fisted in the blue cotton covering her back. He'd tucked her head beneath his chin, and she rested there against him, breathing in the warmth that was Hotch.

It was a moment out of time, and she knew it would change everything between them.

As he pulled back slightly and looked into her dark, dark eyes, he knew that nothing would be the same between them ever again.


	21. Chapter 21

TWENTY ONE

(This is it—the last chapter—with the exception of the Epilogue—and I would absolutely love to hear what everyone thought! I've had over 3000 hits, but relatively little reviews. I would like to know what worked in the story—and what didn't. All input is definitely welcomed! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.)

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Morgan watched the drama between his boss and his colleague and had to smile, even though he was currently escorting David Marks to the nearest police cruiser.

It hadn't been Todd who was the shooter, but David. They'd yet to figure out why.

When the shooting had started, Morgan's first thought was to hit the deck. He did, taking Todd Marks to the ground with him. DiNozzo, Gibbs, and Hotch were mere nanomoments behind him.

Morgan's second thought was for Emily and Agent David. He didn't know where the shooter was aiming, whether he was concentrated on the men on the front porch or was just spraying the neighborhood with bullets.

Morgan's mind replayed the last few moments in perfect detail. They'd been talking to Marks on the porch and he'd _known _the kid wasn't the shooter. He'd been about ready to motion to Hotch he was returning to the vehicle when the first rifle shot had sounded. He'd hit the deck, aware of the rest of the team doing the same.

They'd waited for a bullet to strike near one of them, but it never had. It was then Morgan realized the son of a bitch shooter was most likely aiming at the most vulnerable members of their team. He'd shoved Marks toward DiNozzo and started to move, knowing they'd have to get to the girls quick.

From what he'd heard, it was a single barrel shotgun and it would take the shooter precious seconds to reload. If he could get behind him—it would be a relatively easy take down. He looked at Hotch and mimed his plan. The older man wasn't paying attention, all of his concentration was focused on the dark blue SUV parked almost two hundred feet from their location.

Morgan's gaze followed Hotch's and he nearly puked when he saw the condition of the vehicle. No glass remained in the windows, he couldn't see the passenger side. He had no way of knowing if the occupants had ducked in time or not.

For all he knew, both women were dead. Or badly injured.

He had to get behind the shooter. And fast. He'd army crawled off the porch and behind the hedges. Used the neighbor's backyards as cover and circled the block. The way the neighborhood was set up there was only one spot that would make a decent sniper's nest—a tree house four houses down and across the street, situated in a tree maybe twenty feet off the ground.

He had the son of a bitch apprehended in less than five minutes from the first shot. He'd frog marched the man back to the waiting team, as DiNozzo had hurried up to him to assist. Morgan had willingly handed Marks over to the NCIS agent—they'd be making the collar, not the BAU—and turned back around toward the women's SUV.

He was in time to see Agent Gibbs pulling Officer David from one side, and Hotch pulling Emily free of the other. His mouth quirked at the way Hotch handled her. As if she was delicate, fragile, even.

Morgan knew that to be a lie. Emily Prentiss wasn't the least bit fragile.

But she apparently didn't mind—letting Hotch hold her to him. Morgan watched as she leaned her head against his boss's chest. Her big dark eyes were closed, but it was Hotch who seemed more upset about the recent events. Morgan couldn't ever remember seeing him that visibly upset—not even when Elle had been hurt, or Penelope, or when Reid had been held by that bastard Henkle.

Morgan knew then that Hotch had more than just an attraction to Emily, that the man was starting to develop some extremely deep feelings. He wondered briefly if Emily was aware of it, but looking at her as she clung to the boss man, Morgan somehow knew his friend had some inkling.

He just hoped they figured things out soon—it was obvious to him that the two were good for each other. And if he'd learned anything in this job, it was too take your chances when you're given them. You might not get another.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Hotch finally let go of the woman in his arms, finally becoming aware of just where they were—and who they were. "We need to get you and Officer David to the hospital. Get the glass out, check for any other injuries."

"I'm fine." Emily protested, weakly. She was shook up, but with him beside her, felt strangely all right.

"Still, you'll go, it's standard procedure." Hotch said, one arm around her back as he led her to an ambulance. It had roared up scant moments after the shooting stopped.

"Yes, sir." She said softly, letting him know she understood what he _wasn't _saying.

"Emily, don't call me _sir _again, ok?" He squeezed her shoulder, lightly, eyes running over her one more time, just to make sure.

"Ok, I'll remember that." She murmured. "So we got him."

"We got him. He'll go away for the rest of his life." Hotch said, unnecessarily, as he gave her a little boost into the ambulance. "I'll take care of things here. Call me when you're done in the ER, understand? I'll come and get you."

"I'll do that." She said, watching as he took a step back. Watching as he moved to take charge of the new crime scene.

Watching as he looked over his shoulder at her, just one more time, before morphing into the Aaron Hotchner, SSA, that she was most familiar with.

But as the doors of the ambulance closed before her—and Ziva—she had the fleeting feeling that things were never going to be the way they were, ever again.

And this time—she was okay with that.


	22. Chapter 22

EPILOGUE

(Now that I am finished with this version, I will try to finish the NCIS one, as well as some of my other works, like Prentiss's Find, Ziva's Treasure, and 24 Hours. Enjoy!)

**HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY**

The team spent the next week filling out reports, taking notes, and tying up loose ends. Both teams.

The ER doctor had actually had to put three stitches in her forehead. A large shard of glass had been imbedded pretty deep. To top it off, when removing her cast because of the glass embedded in the plaster, they'd found something else.

A bullet had also imbedded itself in the plaster. They'd ran ballistics tests and sure enough—it matched the ones they'd found the first time she'd been shot. The same fingerprint had been found on it, too. The doctor—the same one who'd been terrified of Ziva the first go around—just shook his head and muttered something about Super Agents and Wonder Woman complexes as he'd removed the damaged plaster.

"You'll probably ruin this one, too, won't you, Agent Prentiss?" He'd asked, carefully avoiding the eye of the other dark haired female agent currently being treated for minor cuts and bruises. The younger woman simply was terrifying.

"Most likely. It's the job." Emily admitted honestly.

"So an immobilization cast, instead of plaster. Just remember to be more careful." He'd admonished as he'd checked the stitching on the old injury. No big deal, she'd have had to had the plaster cast removed when it was time for her stitches to come out, anyway. It was just a few days early. No harm, no foul, she'd thought at the time.

She'd called Hotch like he'd ordered and he'd picked her up within twenty minutes of her call. He'd wanted to drive her home, but she'd refused. They'd ended up back at NCIS, tying up the remaining ends of the case. And watching Gibbs and Rossi in interrogation.

No doubt about it, David Marks was the shooter. His story was much like the profile had predicted. He'd been young when his mother had first met Franks. Todd had been older, spent less time with the strange man. Had preferred his mother's company to that of her boyfriend. Until she'd taken off and left them behind. Melissa Marks had hair as dark as Emily's and eyes of a sad brown. No stretch to understand why—or how—Franks had developed that particular victimology. His manifesto had been found, too. Emily hadn't read it. She really didn't want to know.

She would eventually. It was part of the job, knowing what made UNSUBs the way they were. Every bit of new information helps them find the next UNSUB that much faster.

So she'd do it. Even though Hotch had told her she didn't have to.

Between the two of them things hadn't changed that visibly. At least to the outside world—or the rest of the team. But Emily knew differently. She could feel his eyes on her, now, in a way she couldn't before. He didn't avoid her touch like he used to. He smiled at her more, called her Emily when they were alone. Which was happening much more frequently.

She'd never realized how much he'd went out of his way to avoid her, until he stopped. It was…odd, this awareness she had of him. Especially since she knew he felt the same. The only thing that remained was whether or not he'd eventually act on it.

Right now—it was just too soon.

She'd not really had time to think it all through. And Emily Prentiss was the kind to think everything through.

Hotch seemed to realize that; he'd not pressured her. But he'd not hid his feelings from her—not since they'd wrapped the case and returned to Headquarters. Somehow, she doubted he ever would again.

She knew his feelings. He knew hers.

And for now—that was enough.

For both of them.


End file.
